


The Way You Keep Me Guessing: Coco Teacher AU

by death_frisbee, im_fairly_witty



Series: Coco Teacher!AU [1]
Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: F/M, Teacher AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-02
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-03-12 12:25:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 64,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13547295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/death_frisbee/pseuds/death_frisbee, https://archiveofourown.org/users/im_fairly_witty/pseuds/im_fairly_witty
Summary: Hector Rivera is a middle school music teacher who is not ready to be a parent, but he has little choice when his primo Enrique is killed in a car accident with his wife, meaning Hector now has temporary custody of his godson, eight-year-old Miguel.His bachelor life is in for quite a bit of a change to accommodate his new charge, whether it means coping with the annoyance of his youtuber diva roommate Ernesto, allying his boss/estranged girlfriend Imelda's concern over him raising a child, or honestly just getting all his papers graded in time when he's got a little boy to comfort.At first Hector's terrified that he won't know the first thing about having a kid around, but once Miguel arrives he starts to worry about something else entirely: how on Earth is he going to cope when Miguel has to leave?





	1. Unexpected Responsibility

  _Dios mio_.  _I can’t take care of a kid._

               The thought strikes Héctor on the drive back from Santa Cecilia, with the kid in question buckled in to the passenger’s seat. It’s a bit late to opt out now, considering he’d already agreed to take care of him while the family figured out what to do with Luisa and Enrique gone. Everything had been so sudden, he’d just gone on autopilot—went to the funeral, listened to Tía Elena’s instructions, helped pack up the kid— _Miguel_ , his name was  _Miguel_ —and his things, and gotten back on the road to Capula without even thinking about the fact that he, Héctor Rivera, was now responsible for the health and well-being of a young child when  _he could barely take care of himself._

               Well. It was just for a few months. Surely he could keep the kid alive that long?

               He glances over at the boy beside him, hiding beneath the hood of his too-big sweatshirt and keeping his eyes firmly out the window. Héctor swallows, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.

               “So, ah…you’re eight?” he tries weakly. Ave María Purísma, he should be better at this.  _He is a teacher._  But Miguel gives a short nod, and he sees an in. “Eight’s a good year, you know. I’m sure you’ll love…”  _Ohhh_ , he’s already messed this up. He clears his throat, looking back at the road before glancing at Miguel again. “Ah…you mind if I turn on the radio?”

               Miguel shakes his head mutely, and Héctor wastes no time in switching the radio on. He groans at the terrible static that greets them. The way Chicharrón made him promise to take care of his precious car on the trip, he’d expected some beautiful, sleek vintage number, not a rattling camioneta that couldn’t even get the tiniest bit of signal.

               He glances over as Miguel finally moves, leaning over to adjust the knobs expertly. After a few barely perceptible tweaks and turns, music finally bursts through the static. The quality’s still not great, but now there’s a definite song playing. Héctor gives a small smile.

               “Pretty impressive, chamaco, considering this radio’s at least as old as Tía Elena.”

               Miguel shrugs. “Papá’s radio is the same way,” he says before once again curling up in his seat and staring out the window.

               “Must’ve taken a while to figure out how to do that,” Héctor says, desperate to keep a hold of some sort of conversation with the kid. “Most kids aren’t that patient. You must like music an awful lot.”

               Miguel glances back at Héctor, just for the shortest moment, then shrugs before looking back to the window. Well, it wasn’t much, but it was  _something._ And Héctor could work with that.

~

               They come into Capula just as the sun’s starting to set. Miguel’s stayed silent throughout the trip, despite Héctor’s few attempts to coax out some form of conversation. Maybe the kid’s just quiet. That terrifies him more that he’d like to admit. He’s always liked the kids that are ready to talk the best; one-on-one meetings with quiet kids—where trying to get  _any_ sort of reply or reaction was like pulling teeth—were his absolute least favorite. He couldn’t imagine having to do that every day.

               “Ah, mira, mira! There’s the school,” he said, pointing at the large buildings as they passed. “You’ll be in the primaria when the term starts, and I’m right next door in the secundaria.” He smiles at Miguel. “And you only have to call me Profe when you’re in the secundaria. Héctor’s fine anywhere else.”

               Miguel looks up at him curiously. “Abuelita told me to call you  _Tío_ Héctor.”

               “Well, sure. Tía’s always been old-fashioned. Not me, though.” He reaches into one of the cupholders and pulls out his sunglasses, putting them on despite the fact it’s nearly dark out. “I’m a  _cool_ tío. And  _cool_ tíos just go by their names.” He conveniently doesn’t mention that he was in no way fit to have the title of “tío” on him  _just_ yet.

               He glances up at Miguel over his glasses and, just  _barely_ , he thought he could catch a ghost of a smile cross the boy’s face.  _There_ we go. Maybe there was hope for them yet.

~

               The car’s parked in front of the apartment complex, and Miguel’s already pulled out his suitcase when Héctor yelps out a half-finished curse (Swearing in front of children is _not good,_ he reminds himself, because then they’ll _never_  stop repeating it. He’s learned this from several parent meetings and even more not-very-happy discussions with la directora.). When Miguel sends him a curious look, he tries to play it off coolly.

               “Haa, funny thing, Miguelito! I, ah…with everything that happened, I…left my keys…in the apartment. But it’s all under control! I just…” He presses his lips together, then snaps. “But you know what? I’m lucky. I left a spare key with my neighbor for this  _exact_ situation.” Well, not this  _exact_ situation. It was much more along the lines of “Come and visit any time” (not that she did), but  _that_ was not something the angelito querido cielito needed to know just yet. He lopes back to the fire escape, calling for Miguel to stay put and that this would only take a minute, and starts the climb up to the apartment window he’s looking for—the muffled sounds of “La Llorona” being interrupted tell him he’d knocked on the right one. He puts on his most charming grin as the window opens, and he’s greeted by a long-suffering sigh and crossed arms.

               “Rivera,” is beautiful, serious Imelda’s greeting.

               “Diosa, am I glad you’re home. Wouldn’t you know, I’ve locked myself out of my apartment. Qué rollo, eh? I was…”

               “If this is your way of trying to spend the night, I swear I have a boot  _right here.._.”

               “No! No, not this time.” As lovely and romantic as flirting with Imelda on the fire escape is, he doesn’t like the idea of going back to Miguel with a boot imprint on his face. “I just wanted to know if you still have that spare key I gave you?” As she rolls her eyes, he adds, “Look, ordinarily I’d talk with the casero in the morning, but…the little chamaco down there is staying with me for the next…for a while, and he needs to get to bed as soon as possible.”

               Imelda frowns curiously, and she sticks her head out the window to see if he’s lying. Héctor watches her face soften as she catches sight of Miguel down below. She chews at her lower lip, then looks up to the heavens before going back into the apartment. Héctor holds his breath, staying very still, then lets it out in a disbelieving laugh as Imelda returns with the key in her hand.

               “And if you say a  _single word_  about me keeping this…”

               “It goes with me straight to the grave, diosa.” He takes the key and sends her a big grin. “So I’ll see you before term starts, right, directora?”

               “ _Go home, Héctor._ ” Imelda shuts the window sharply enough to nearly take off his nose, but the quick glance she gives over her shoulder makes it entirely worth it. He takes a moment to sigh dreamily, but remembers that there is, in fact, a child waiting for him down below, and that there will be  _plenty_ of time to moon over la directora in the staff meetings they’d be having in a few weeks. He lightly swings down the fire escape, then holds up the key triumphantly as he walks back to Miguel. The boy’s giving him a slightly worried look.

               “Does that lady hate you?”

               “ _Hate_ me? Oh, no, chamaco, she likes me a lot.”

               The worry quickly turns to disgust. “Is she your  _girlfriend_?”

               “She…you know, this sort of thing’s pretty complicated and I bet you’re dead on your feet.” He picks up the suitcase and nods for Miguel to follow him. “Let’s get you set up in Casa Rivera, hm?”

~

               He’s not sure if it’s nervous energy from being in a new place or a hint of what Miguel’s like when he’s not…in his current position, but the kid wastes no time in walking around the little apartment, looking at  _everything._  Héctor lets him wander, setting the suitcase down for a moment.

“I’ve got that room over there set up for you. My roommate won’t mind…” He stops and lets out a little laugh as Miguel makes a bee-line for the record player, eyes wide, and Héctor can tell he’s itching to look through the records stacked beside it.

               “Go ahead, take a look,” he assures. As he walks by, he chances giving the top of Miguel’s head a rub; the boy quickly ducks away, and Héctor carries on as if nothing happened. “The good ones are mine, the bad ones are Ernesto’s.”

               Miguel, holding one of the records, looks at Héctor dubiously. “How am I supposed to know which ones are good and which ones are bad?”

               “Well,  _that’s_ an easy answer, chamaco.” He returns to Miguel’s side and takes the record, flipping it once before lightly setting it in the player. “You gotta listen to it.” He sets the needle down, then switches the player on. They wait a few moments, both staring at the player, and Héctor sends Miguel a grin as the bright sound of guitars filled the apartment. “Hey, bastante buena, sí? This must be one of mine.”

               A little smile makes its way across Miguel’s face, just enough to make the tiniest dent in one cheek, and he returns his focus to the music…at least, until he notices the guitar case in the corner of his eye. “Is that yours?”

               “Mm-hm.” Héctor’s since made his way into the apartment’s teeny little kitchen, trying to figure out what he could possibly make for two people with three stale tortillas and rice that may or may not have been in the cupboard since he’d moved in.

               “Can you play?”

               “No, I just like the way it looks.” At Miguel’s offended expression, Héctor gives a little eyeroll. “Of  _course_ I can play. Ernesto and I wouldn’t be able to go on tours if I couldn’t.”

               “No manches! Aren’t you a teacher?” Miguel argues.

               “You think teachers hibernate during the summer? That’s when we get to have our fun.” He pulls out one of the tortillas and waves it; it holds its shape like a frisbee. _Hm._ “The plan was to be in Guadalajara this week, so Ernesto should be playing in one of the smaller clubs about now. Normally I go with him, but this year…” Well, it’s obvious why he isn’t on the summer tour. He doesn’t need to bring that up. He tosses the tortilla aside, noting how well it flies, and shrugs with a smile. “Well, it’s the reason you get your own room this summer instead of bunking with me!”

All at once, he sets his hands on Miguel’s shoulders and guides him toward the door, ignoring his little noise of protest. “Now, Señora Olguin lives downstairs, and she  _lives_ for feeding boys she thinks are too skinny. Why don’t we go down and make her night, hm?”

~

               Héctor can’t sleep that night, and he knows it’s Miguel’s fault.

               Even without being in the same room, Héctor can feel the anxiety radiating from the boy. And who could blame him? Losing his parents, being sent off with a tío he hadn’t met—he possibly hadn’t even  _heard of_ —and having to prepare himself for a new home, a new school, a new  _life_ for even a few months…it was entirely too much for any kid to have to endure. And that would be assuming that said tío wasn’t constantly dancing on the edge of disaster and a general danger to anything he tried to take care of. Moving in with  _Héctor_? Miguel’d be lucky if he could survive this without being committed.

               Héctor spends several hours tossing and turning, but there was no way he can sleep with the way things are. So he decides to stop this and try a new plan. He slips out of bed, throwing on the first wrinkled sweatshirt he can grab, and quietly makes his way back to the main room. He grabs his guitar case, then hesitates in front of Miguel’s door. He waits a moment, then another, then sucks in a breath and gives two quiet knocks.

               “You still awake, Miguelito?”

               “No.” Miguel’s voice is thick, and the sniffle that escapes through the door makes Héctor’s stomach twist. Maybe he should leave him. It’d probably be good for him to get all this out. And yet…

               “Qué pena. I was gonna head to the roof, and I thought you might think that was cool.”

               There’s a pause, and Héctor considers dropping it. But then he hears some movement on the other end of the door, and then another sniffle, and then a very quiet “Why are you going to the roof?”

               “Sometimes staying inside’s a pain. Too many thoughts get trapped in here, you know? It’s nice to go somewhere where they can all just escape.” He shrugs. “But you’re asleep, so I don’t want to bother you.”

               Héctor takes two steps back from the door, then waits. A moment later, the door creaks open. Miguel’s nose is still red, and he gives his eyes a quick wipe, but he’s pulled on his hoodie and shoved his feet into his shoes.

               “Can I come to the roof with you, Héctor?” he asks quietly. Héctor smiles and ruffles Miguel’s hair—this time Miguel doesn’t duck away.

               “Of course, chamaco. Just stay quiet; we don’t want to get complaints from going up the stairs too loudly.”

               Technically, the roof “isn’t accessible”. But that didn’t stop Héctor from finding the service stairs when he’d moved in, and it doesn’t stop him from guiding Miguel up them now, making sure the boy keeps clear of any electrical wires or vents. They pick their way to Héctor’s favorite spot, one large enough for two people—perfect for a night of tequila and song writing, or sneaking the odd kiss while discussing next year’s curriculum, or to air out the worries and grief that’s been bottled up since Tía Elena said, “This is your Tío Héctor, Miguelito. You’ll be staying with him for a little while.”

               Miguel watches with wide eyes as Héctor opens up the case, pulling out the gleaming white guitar. His mouth turns up as he catches the little skull grinning at him from the headboard as Héctor tunes it, then his jaw promptly drops as Héctor gives a grin and plays, near perfectly, the song they’d listened to on the record player.

               “Nada mal, hm?” Héctor asks with a little laugh as he catches Miguel’s shocked face. “No one ever thinks that teachers do anything besides teach.” He gives Miguel a grin and a wink as he slows the song down. “Hope you  _learned_ something from that.”

               Miguel doesn’t answer, instead moving up onto his knees and getting closer to Héctor, eyes fixed on the way his fingers danced over the frets.

               “How can you play like that?” he asks when Héctor switches to a different song.

               “About double your lifetime’s worth of practice and a good ear.”

               “So will I be able to play like that if I practice? Without sheet music or anything?”

For the first time, Héctor feels like he’s getting a glimpse of the  _real_ Miguel, the Miguel that was around before the accident, before the move. His eyes are bright as he watches Héctor play, and he’s smiling enough to show off his dimple fully.

               “I’m sure you will. In fact…” He stops playing and flips the guitar around, holding it out to Miguel. “Why don’t you show me what you know now?”

               Miguel’s eyes widen, and he looks down in shock at the guitar as Héctor sets it in his lap. “I…I just started taking lessons. I can’t…”

               “You’re a  _Rivera,_ though. We’ve got music in our bones.” He nods and waves a hand. “So show me whatever you think is the best you can do.”

               Miguel looks up at Héctor with wide eyes, and his tongue pokes out, just a bit, as he adjusts the guitar in his lap. It’s too big for him, and he struggles to reach his hand around as he plucks out the sorriest “Estrellita” Héctor’s ever heard. He stops the boy quickly, shaking his head.

               “No, no no no. That’s not right at all.”

               “But I can’t reach!”

               “That’s not what I’m talking about. Your whole attitude’s all wrong.” Miguel’s expression darkens, but Héctor snaps his fingers before he can say the obvious. “You need to  _perform._ And the first step to that is loosening up.”

               Miguel’s expression…doesn’t  _lighten_ , but it shifts to curiosity. He watches as Héctor shakes out his long limbs in precisely the way that got a guaranteed laugh from his students, then half-heartedly gives his arms a shake when prompted to copy him. Héctor crosses his arms with a little frown and shakes his head.

               “Definitely not enough. I think we need to pull out  _el grito._ ” He looks at Miguel with raised eyebrows. “So come on, give me your best grito.”

               “My best grito?”

               “ _Every_ musician can do it, muchacho. So come on!” Before Miguel can say anything, Héctor is up on his feet, letting out a loud shout that echoed through the quiet, dark neighborhood. He looks down at Miguel, one eyebrow raised, and grins as the boy stands up and opens his mouth…to let out the tiniest squeak. He shakes his head.

               “One more time. You just gotta  _yell_.” He lets out another grito, this whoop prompting a few lights from neighboring buildings to turn on. He ignores them, watching as Miguel sucks in a breath, opens his mouth…

               And lets out a shout loud enough to rival Héctor’s.

               “That’s it, Miguelito! One more!” He crows out again and again, the shouts blending with Miguel’s trills and laughs. Miguel shouts a couple more times, then sucks in a deep breath to let out the loudest grito he can. But all at once, he chokes on the sound, and a loud sob escapes from him instead.

               Héctor immediately pulls the boy toward him, paying no mind as Miguel drops the guitar to clutch him as the grief and stress from the day finally erupts out of him. He rests a hand on Miguel’s head as he hugs the boy to him.

               “Está bien, está bien, Miguel,” he murmurs, keeping still as Miguel weeps against him. “You’re okay. Take as long as you need.”

               He’s not really sure how long they stand there, but he makes no movement aside from a back rub or hair ruffle as Miguel continues to cry. He needs this; more than anything today, Miguel needs this moment. Eventually, he does gradually start to wind down, sobs fading to tears fading to hiccups and sniffles. He goes limp against Héctor, exhaustion winning out over anything else. Héctor finally pulls himself away from Miguel, looking at him for a long moment before turning and stooping down.

               “Come on, hop up.”

               Miguel doesn’t argue as he climbs up on Héctor’s back, burying his face into his shoulder. As they start walking, he hoarsely says, “But your guitar. I…”

               “It’ll be here when I get back,” Héctor assures lightly as he makes his way back to the service stairs. Miguel lets out a breath as he nods, head falling back to Héctor’s shoulder. He stays quiet the entire way back to the apartment; Héctor’s fairly certain he’s fast asleep. He’s very careful to keep quiet as he makes his way back to Miguel’s room, and he’s extremely careful as he sets Miguel in the bed. He throws the blankets over the boy—he’d never figured out what tucking someone in entailed, so this will have to do—and half-smiles as he stands back up.

               Well. One day down. Maybe they both  _could_ survive this.

               He just starts to turn when he hears a very quiet voice ask, “Héctor?”

               He turns back around—it looks as though Miguel’s fast asleep—but he kneels down beside the bed all the same. “Sí? What is it, chamaco?”

               Miguel shifts, and suddenly two arms are wrapped tightly around Héctor’s neck.

               “ _Thank you_ , Tío Héctor.”

               That’s all he says before pulling back and turning over to fall asleep. Héctor, meanwhile, stays put, eyes wide. With some difficulty, he swallows the lump in his throat and stands up, giving Miguel’s hair one last ruffle before he steps out of the room.

               It hits him, now, that the trouble might not be Miguel staying with him. It’s only been one day, but he’s already keenly aware that saying goodbye to the little chamaco might be the hardest thing he’ll ever have to do.


	2. La Directora

Imelda was still angry with Hector, meaning that when he was late to the welcome-back assembly she couldn’t text him to see where he was. She’d maintained complete radio silence for three months now despite his best efforts and was very proud of herself for it.

But she was also his supervisor and she needed to know if he was going to be late to his own class. Again. So if you thought about it, texting him now wasn’t actually a sign of weakness, but of annoyance. Which was alright.

_¡Hector! You are late 4 morning assembly. ¡Vamanos!_

Imelda bit her lip after sending the text, locking her phone screen before she could see his old texts.

She looked out over the assembly crowd to the older student’s section, spotting where Señora Gutiérrez was keeping an annoyed eye on Hector’s restless flock of first-period students, as well as her own. If Hector’s students, and more importantly their parents, didn’t adore him so much he’d be on probation by now. The idiota was lucky that his goofy charm seemed to work on everyone.

Well, until he messed up badly enough.

Imelda caught her vice principal watching her with a knowing look and stopped turning her phone over and over in her hands, tucking it in her jacket pocket instead.

She grit her teeth. Ever since Hector “accidentally” informed his entire class that they were seeing each other at the end of last school year, it was all any of the staff talked about. Not in front of her of course, not after she’d ripped apart Señor Alejandro in full view of everyone in the teacher’s lounge, but it was easy to see that the vice principal obviously thought she was texting Hector right now.

Which…she was…but in a strictly professional capacity.

She growled and slipped out her phone again as the assembly wound down, shielding it from the vice principal’s view with her hand. No response from Hector.

_Hector. Your class is about to start. Without you._ She typed.

He’d been either very brave or very stupid when he’d come by last week for his extra key, having locked himself out of his own apartment. After she’d broken up with him he’d been just intelligent enough to give her the space she needed, only smiling and waving from across the apartment complex when he spotted her.

Well, actually he’d learned to keep his distance after she’d thrown a shoe at him the first time he’d tried approaching her, but he’d gotten smarter after that.

And he’d had a little boy with him last week too, the only reason he hadn’t gotten another boot to the face. Curiosity had been eating her up for the whole week, almost badly enough for her to crack and text to ask him who was foolish enough to make him a babysitter.

Teaching a class was one thing, leaving Hector to actually care for a kid was quite another. She couldn’t even trust him to remember to water a beloved houseplant while she was out of town.

Which she had in fact done before. Only once.

Imelda kept a sharp eye out as the assembly wrapped up. Teachers across the auditorium started shouting as they herded crowds of students out doors and towards their respective classrooms. She stood and strode to the exit, adults and children alike quickly parting to let la directora de la escuela through.

By the time she reached the front office the reberating echo of the class bell had faded and the long linoleum hallways were empty again. She was about to duck into her own office to have a very stern phone call with a particular employee of hers, when she saw a rush of suspiciously furtive movement out of the corner of her eye.

She spun to see Señor Rivera himself attempting to sneak past her, coffee in one hand, towing a young boy along with the other. His ever-present guitar case on his back.

“Rivera.” She barked after him, folding her arms.

Hector froze and slowly turned to face her with a sheepish grin, caught.

“Imelda!” He said, a little too cheerful, “Wow, can I just say you look great this morning? Really, you do. You know I’d love to stay and chat, but I seem to be running a bit late today. I’ve got to hurry over to my class before they think I’ve given up on them before the year’s even started.”

“Who is this?” Imelda said, pointing to the small boy half hiding behind Hector. The same one she’d seen the other day when she hadn’t knocked Hector back down her fire escape.

Hector looked down, eyebrows raising as if noticing he had a shadow for the first time. “Ah! This is my godson Miguel, guitarist extraordinaire and my teaching assistant for the day.”

“When you said he’d be staying with you for a while, I thought you meant the weekend.” Imelda said, her tone becoming much more calm with a child present.

And not just because of his age, Miguel seemed to have that kind of subtly fragile look about him that she had seen far too many times before in her career. Something bad had happened to him, and recently, if her directorial instincts were any good.

“Nope,” Hector said brightly. His careful tone matched the same kind of childproofing as hers as he ruffled the boy’s hair. “Miguelito here’s gonna be with me for a few months, we’ve been having a great time too, haven’t we chamaco?”

The boy shrugged, leaning against Hector’s leg with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his red hoodie.

“Well Miguel, we’re so glad to have you here.” Imelda said with a smile. “I suppose you’re going to be attending school with us then?”

“Tio Hector forgot to sign me up for classes.” Miguel said, looking up at his guardian with a slightly weary look that Imelda could relate to only too well. She was starting to like this kid.

“I was just going to have him hang out with me today and get his paperwork figured out after school.” Hector said, his sheepish look back as he rubbed the back of his head. “It slipped my mind, I apologize for that. It’s funny, I’ve never had to worry about signing up a kid for school before, just about stuffing something useful into their heads once they get here.”

“You mean once you get here.” Imelda said cooly. “You go ahead to your class, I’ll make sure Miguel gets where he’s supposed to be and that his records are processed.”

“Eres un ángel Imelda.” Hector said, smiling with relief. He looked down at Miguel, who was now holding tightly onto his pant leg. “Ay gordito, Imelda’s gonna get you to your own class okay? She won’t bite if you don’t. I’ll catch up with you after school.”

Miguel hesitated, but then nodded and let go of Hector’s pant leg, making his way through the office door Imelda was holding open for him.

“I’ll be right in Miguel, I just need to ask your tio a few questions.” Imelda said before closing the door.

“Hector, what is going on?” She asked, worry coming back into her voice now that they were alone in the hallway. “You never told me you had a nephew.”

Hector sighed heavily, suddenly looking ten years older with fatigue, weighing down what little smile he managed to keep on his face. “His parents both died two weeks ago and I’ve been playing godfather while his family figures out what to do. Sorry about today, he’s not too excited about started a new school and we got a late start this morning. Poor kid’s had his whole world turned upside down. He’s from Santa Cecilia, his records should be in whatever school district covers that town.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Imelda said, her heart breaking for the boy sitting in her office, “I’ll get everything taken care of. You just worry about getting to class, you definitely owe Señora Gutiérrez for covering for you again.”

“Muchas gracias diosa, you’re a real lifesaver.” Hector looked like he wanted to hug her, but the glare he got from using her pet name cooled him just enough to get him moving down the hall instead, waving cheerfully over his shoulder as he trotted away.

Imelda shook her head as she watched him go. Miguel’s situation was making it harder to be angry at Hector and it was annoying her.

“So Miguel, let’s get you set up for school all right?” she said, entering her office and sitting down at her computer. She had to try several times before her old school monitor logged her in, sometimes we wished she could just smash the stupid thing and go back to good-old fashioned filing cabinets. “Can you tell me a little about yourself?”

“Well, I do like music. I’m not really super good yet like Tio Hector was saying, but I am going to grow up and be a famous guitar player.” Miguel said, holding the sides of his seat and kicking his feet in the air as he looked around her office. His gaze fixed on the bowl of tangerines on her desk. “May I have one por favor? Tio Hector never has fruit.”

Now that was definitely something she believed. “Of course, help yourself.”

Miguel eagerly scooted forward on his chair and took a tangerine in each hand, shoving one in his hoodie pocket and tearing at the peel of the other. Imelda watched him attack the fruit out of the corner of her eye as she coaxed her computer to pull up his school records on her screen.

“Did you have breakfast today?” She asked, not sure she wanted to hear the answer.

“Yeah, a hot pocket.” Miguel said around a slice of tangerine. “Hector eats a lot of fast food, and frozen stuff.”

Imelda sigh was long enough that it turned into turn into a sort of growl at the end.

Hector was not a bad person, he was actually the sweetest and kindest man she’d ever met, but that didn’t change the fact that he was sometimes a clueless bachelor and that growing children needed more than just emotional support. They needed structure and dependability. And real food for breakfast.

“Muchas gracias.” The boy said, smiling as he dropped the peel in her trash can.

Imelda nodded, smiling back as she saved his records file to process later. He was so polite, not something that she saw every day. “Alright Miguel, you’ll be with Señora Marrón today, you’ll really like her class. And I don’t suppose Hector packed you a lunch?”

“I don’t think so.” Miguel said, scratching the back of his head in exactly the way Hector did when he was embarrassed. Did they know they both did that? “He’s really great, he just forgets stuff sometimes.”

“Well, that’s alright,” Imelda said quickly, not wanting him to feel awkward. “I’ll tell the cafeteria workers that you get a free lunch today as a welcome present to our school.”

“Gracias! You’re pretty cool for a directora.” Miguel said brightly.

“Well, thank you.” Imelda said, chuckling as she logged out of her computer and stood. “Plus we’re neighbors now since I’m only a few doors down from you, I think that counts for something.”

Miguel chatted the whole way to his new classroom, his confidence having apparently been bought with fresh fruit. There was no denying how adorable he was, one of the sweetest boys she’d probably ever met, and she’d met quite a few.

By the time she dropped him off at class Imelda felt ready to do anything to protect the boy, even more so than she usually did for her students. Yes, probably partly because Hector was his guardian, but really everything about Miguel’s situation was pulling on her heartstrings. If only there was some way she to make sure Hector didn’t accidentally kill Miguel by malnutrition.

Well, there actually was an easy way to do just that, but that would mean swallowing a very large chunk of her pride.

She tried to dismiss the plan slowly forming in her head, but by the time she reached her office it had gone from her brain’s polite suggestion to a promise of guilt if she didn’t act on it.

Imelda closed her office door behind her and groaned, closing her eyes and leaning her head against the door. She really didn’t want to visit Hector. She’d been doing so good keeping distance between them, even despite his best efforts.

The image of Miguel eagerly tearing into his tangerine sprang to mind and she growled at herself. She was a strong, independent woman. If there was an adorably polite orphan in danger of excessive junk-food living a few doors down that she could help, then she sure wasn’t going to let her own pride prevent her from doing whatever she could to help him.

All she had to do was make sure Hector understood that she was visiting for Miguel’s sake. Not his.

Which was definitely and completely the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> We'll be posting another chapter every couple days or so until A03 is caught up with what we already have on tumblr.
> 
> If you're too impatient for that you can come check us out on tumblr, we're always rambling about Coco and you can catch a LOT of extra teacher!au headcanon flying around. This AU is also a ton of fun because it's constantly being added on to by the Coco community and extra ideas from the fabulous writers and artists there regularly get woven into the story as it progresses!
> 
> https://im-fairly-whitty.tumblr.com/
> 
> http://slusheeduck.tumblr.com/
> 
> [The Teacher!AU idea was originally started by @scribblrhob's art and then primarily added on to by @upperstories's art, two fantastic tumblr artists. The authors of this fic decided to turn their lovely art into a full written story.]


	3. Skipping Class

               “…and so if you look  _way_ back at music, even from ancient Greece and Egypt, you’ll see that particular songs have a set tempo that go with them, to help fit the sound with the emotion and…”

               Héctor, halfway through drawing up a complicated diagram about the relation between tempo and songs, trails off as he glances up at the clock, then back at his class. He raises his eyebrows as he catches the glazed-over looks of nearly two dozen thirteen-year-olds, then caps his marker and sticks it in his pocket with a shrug.

               “You know, this can wait for Monday. Let’s call it a day.” He nods to the door as several students let out delighted gasps. “Gather up your things and go on to lunch early.” As every student quickly began gathering their books and pencils, he added, “And remember! You need to bring in examples of adagio, moderato, and allegro next class! And López, you came in late, so be sure to leave your homework on my desk before you go.”

               “Gracias, profe!” came one girl’s reply as the students started pouring out of the room with the odd “Adiós, profe! Have a good weekend!” being called as they left. Then, at last, he’s left with silence.

               Héctor sucks in a breath and lets it out before he stretches out his back. There’s still one more class before the day’s over, and heaps of homework to be graded, but  _still_. It’s  _Friday._  Tomorrow he could sleep in as late as he wanted and try and figure out that new song he’d been playing with and give Miguel his guitar lesson and…

               He freezes as he hears a shifting in the instrument closet.  _That_ was never good. Either it was some sort of animal—typically, though, those kind of pranks happened later in the year—or students up to something  _strictly forbidden_ in the school handbook. He sighs, not looking forward to the conversation he’s about to have with whoever’s in there, then puts on his best teacher face before walking up to the door. He reaches for the handle, and then he hears  _it:_ a tiny, little sneeze. One he hears nearly everyday.

                _Ayyyy_ , ave María  _pur. ís. ma._ Don’t let it be who he thinks it is.

               He opens the door quickly, and is immediately met by big brown eyes and an awkward, one-dimpled smile.

               “Hola, Tío Héctor.”

               Héctor stares at Miguel for a long moment, then promptly shuts the door on him. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, then opens it again. Miguel’s still there.

                _Ohhh,_ this was  _bad._

               “Why aren’t you in class?” He tries to use a good Teacher Voice, but that’s never been his forte, so it comes out more panicked than anything.

               “Well, I—”

               “How did you get here without me knowing? Why are you  _here?!_ ”

               “You…forgot your keys!” Miguel digs in his pocket and holds up Héctor’s key ring. “I saw them before we left, and then I…forgot about them but then I remembered and I…brought them here…to give them to you?” As Héctor stares at him, he looks away before glancing up with wide brown eyes. “And I just…I  _really_ missed my tío and…” Héctor shakes his head.

               “No, no no. You can’t do puppy-dog eyes at me, I  _perfected_ that.”

Miguel’s eyes widen. “So  _you’re_ the ‘him’ Abuelita’s talking about whenever she said, ‘ _Ayyy,_ you’re just like  _him_!’”

“ _Don’t_  change the subject!” He pinches the bridge of his nose, then holds up his hands. “Okay. Okay okayokay. We’re gonna start from the beginning, chamaco, and you’re gonna tell me the  _truth._  Okay?” He sets his hands on Miguel’s shoulders and pulls him out from the closet, sinking down to meet him eye-to-eye. “So start.”

               Miguel looks away, squirming a bit. “Well, you  _did_ forget your keys. And I  _did_ forget to give them to you until recess…”

               “Mm-hm.”

               “And it’s not like the primaria’s far away! They’re connected! So I…I thought I’d come over and…I mean, you weren’t here when I got here and I had the keys, so I…just came in and…” Miguel plays with the little guitar charm on the keychain.

               “ _Miguel_.” For the first time in his life, Héctor actually manages to use the Teacher Voice successfully.

               Miguel presses his lips together, then looks up at Héctor with wide eyes as the truth bursts out of him. “Our music class is  _so boring!_ We’re  _just_ learning what rests are and we have these dumb recorders we have to play and it’s…I hate it!” As Héctor’s eyebrows raise, he continues fervently, “But I knew you teach  _actual_ music stuff and I…I wanted to hear about that instead! And it was  _so, so_ much better!”

               Héctor presses his lips together hard, then sets a hand against his forehead with a long sigh. On one hand, Miguel really did love music—he’d known that before, but this  _really_ clinched it—and he was willing to hide out in a closet to learn basicmusic theory. At eight years old! In any other situation, Héctor would be  _extremely_ proud.

               On the other hand,  _his job is at stake_ and _Miguel_ is about to be _slapped with a truancy_ and  _explaining that to Tía Elena is something that he does not want to do._

               Finally, he drags his hand down his face with a groan. “Okay. Okay. You just missed your music class?”

               Miguel nods.

               “Mmm _okay._ I’ll talk to Maestra Marcela. We’ll say you…I don’t know, panicked about being in a new school…”

               “But I’ve been here for three weeks.”

               “ _Sometimes it hits late, chamaco._ ” He rubs his eyes. “And if Imelda asks, I can say…”

               He’s cut off by a quick knock on the door, followed by the voice that, for once, he  _does not want to hear._  “Señor Rivera? I need to talk to you.”

               Héctor bites off a yelp and, before he can think any better of it, pushes Miguel back into the closet. He hears a crash inside— _oops_ —but shuts the door before leaning against it easily just as Imelda opens the door. He puts on his widest smile, dimples on full display.

               “Hola, directora. Is it already time for performance reports?” he asks, knocking his heel against the closet door as a wordless “ _Stay put_ ” to Miguel before he walks over to her. His smile fades, however, as he notices the worried look on her face. “Is…something wrong?”

               She shakes her head with a puff. “I was going to call you, but I didn’t want to worry you in front of your class. I just got a call from Hernandez, and she says Miguel didn’t show up for her class.”

               “ _Oh-h…_?”

               “And none of the other teachers at the primaria are having any luck finding him.” Imelda chews on her lip—her one tell that she isn’t completely cool and collected, he’d learned—then looks up at him. “It…this sort of thing isn’t  _uncommon_  with children in his situation, and usually it’s resolved without much incident but… _ay_ , dios mio, it doesn’t make it any easier. Does he have anywhere he likes to go? Maybe when he gets overwhelmed?”

               All at once, Héctor feels  _terrible_. He’d known Miguel had grown on Imelda—he’d grown on just about everyone—but he’d never seen her so actively worried. He swallows.

               “I…well, he might have headed back to the apartment?” he says slowly. “He likes to go to the roof and play his guitar whenever things get… _bad._ ” He reaches forward and tentatively pats her shoulder. “You know what, you head back to the primaria and check in one last time, and I’ll go check home. He has to be either here or there; he’s not  _that_ much of a troublemaker.”

               Imelda nods, then lets out a breath and looks up at him with a small, curious smile. “It’s…I’m impressed,” she says after a moment. “If I were you, I’d be completely panicked. How are you so calm?”

               Héctor puts on a strained smile. “I’m not.” He  _really, really_ is not. “But I know the chamaco pretty well, and that helps.” He once again sets a hand on her shoulder and starts guiding her back to the door. “So like I said, I’ll go check the apartment, you go check the—”

               He’s cut off by a  _terrific_ racket coming from the instrument closet—he can pick out crashing cymbals, a falling bass, three brass instruments of some sort hitting the ground, and, above all the other noises, a young boy letting out a yelp of surprise. Imelda’s head whips around, and her face goes from concerned to suspicious in less than half a second.

               “What was that?”

               “Ah…those band students! They never put their instruments back right—I really ought to have a talk with them.” He’s practically tripping over his feet as he backtracks to the closet, Imelda following close. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of it after I— _no no no!_ ”

               Before he can stop her, Imelda throws open the door. Inside, Miguel—a trombone and clarinet in his arms, shoulder propping up a bass case—looks up at her with wide eyes. He puts on his widest smile, dimple on full display.

               “Hola, directora.”

               Imelda stares at him silently for a full ten seconds. Then, she sucks in a breath and sets her hands on her hips.

               “ _What_ are you doing here, Miguel?” she asks, voice even and cool. Miguel looks up to Héctor, smile fading. He needs help. Héctor looks over to Imelda.

               “He was bringing me my keys—”

               “I got really nervous and—”

               Both Riveras stop at the same time. They look at each other, then back to Imelda.

               “He was having a rough time with—”

               “Tío Héctor left them on the table when—”

               This time, Imelda holds up her hands, stopping the two of them. She sends a pointed glare at Héctor, half-shutting the door to block them from Miguel’s view.

               “You threw your nephew  _in a closet?!”_  she hisses.

               “Primo, actually, but my tía insis…”

               “ _Why is he in the closet, Héctor?!”_

               Héctor throws his arms up in a shrug. “He hid in there! I was about to get him out when you came in and—”

               “And then you  _lied_ to me about where he was.”

               “I did say he  _could_ be at the apartment. It wasn’t a  _lie_ , exac—” He stumbles back as Imelda shoves a finger right in his face.

               “You are  _so, so_ lucky that these schools are on the same grounds. That is the  _only_ thing saving you from being fired  _right now._ But believe me,  _Rivera_ , we are having a  _talk_ in your off-period on Monday.” She lets out a breath, puts on a much more neutral face, then opens the door to look at Miguel. He’s managed to get the instruments back where they belong, and he wastes no time in sending Imelda the biggest puppy-dog eyes Héctor has ever seen.

               “I-I’m sorry, directora. I just…I missed my Tío and…” He stops as Imelda gives him a cool smile and bends slightly to meet him eye-to-eye.

               “ _Miguel_ ,” she says in her calmest directora voice. “I have to deal with  _this_ —” She points to Héctor. “—almost every day. So I can tell you that what you’re trying to do now? It  _isn’t going to work._ ” Her smile drops. “I  _should_ give you detention. But…I understand that moving and going to a new school can be stressful. So, after school, you’re going to come  _straight_ to my office and we’re having a talk about why you can’t run off to hide in the instrument closet.  _Claro?_ ”

               “Sí, claro.”

               Imelda gives a short nod, then stands up straight. She gives Héctor a withering look. “Well, believe it or not, I have other things to take care of besides  _your_ nonsense. You’re going to take Miguel back to class.  _Claro?_ ”

               “Sí, claro.”

               She sends him one last glare for good measure, then makes her way out of the music room. Once the door shuts, Héctor collapses against the wall, covering his face.

               “ _Ayyy_ , dios mio, that could have been so much worse.” He peeks between his fingers at Miguel, who gives a smile and a shrug.

               “I mean…we didn’t get in too much trouble. So…things are good, right? We can…just forget this happened?”

               Miguel’s smile grows hesitantly as Héctor starts to laugh. Still laughing, he shakes his head and bends down to Miguel’s level.

               “Ah, Miguelito.  _You_ are so, so,  _soooo_ , sososo…”

               “Lucky?”

               “ _Grounded._ ”

~

               Once Miguel’s finished talking with Imelda after school, Héctor lays down the rules of the grounding. No television, no guitar outside of his lesson and daily practice, and no record player. It’s strange, being the one  _disciplining_  instead of  _being disciplined_ , and he doesn’t really like it all that much. But he also can’t let Miguel think that putting them both at risk of being killed by Imelda  _and_ Tía Elena is something he can get away with.

               Miguel, for what it’s worth, takes the grounding in stride; Héctor suspects it’s not the first time the kid’s gotten in this amount of trouble. He doesn’t complain and quietly works on his homework (as well as an essay about why skipping class was bad for Imelda, due that Monday).

Héctor, meanwhile, works on grading homework (as well as an apology for Imelda that will be slipped under her door on Monday.) It’s not terrible, grading in silence, but…no, no, it is  _really_ terrible. So he gets to his feet and starts sorting through the record collection.

               “Hey, you said no record player!” Miguel immediately argues, looking up from his workbook. Héctor glances back at him.

               “You’re the one who’s grounded, not me. I’ll make sure to pick stuff you hate.” He finally settles on a record and visibly relaxes once the music starts to play.  _Ah_ , much better.

               “I don’t hate this, though.”

               “You don’t?  _Ay_ , I’m the  _worst_ at punishments, then.” That said, he doesn’t change the record.

               He flops back down on the sofa, taking up his pen and stack of ungraded homework, then pauses and glances up at Miguel. The boy’s foot is tapping against the floor as he works, marking the beat easily.  _Hm_.

               “So you really thought it was worth skipping class to hear me talk about tempo?” he asks casually.

               Miguel turns and nods eagerly, a big grin on his face. “Absolutely!”

               “Did you pay attention?” His eyebrows raise as Miguel nods, and he nods to the record player. “Tell me what this song’s tempo is.”

               Miguel’s head tilts as he listens. “Um…moderato? That’s the one that’s not too fast or slow…” He taps his foot to the beat again. “Yeah, it’s right in the middle. It’s like the second song you played in class.”

               Huh. He  _did_ listen.

               Héctor sits up and lets out a breath, then sets the papers aside and reaches into his school bag to pull out the teacher’s guide to his curriculum. He looks at Miguel, then nods for him to join him on the sofa. Once he pulls himself up, Héctor opens up the book.

               “You still need to go to Maestra Marcela’s class. I don’t care how much you hate her dumb recorders.  _Buuut_ …” He smiles as he gestures at the book. “I  _think_ I can give you some lessons here at home. That should make things a little easier.”

               Miguel’s face lights up. “ _Really_?”

               “Sure.” Héctor puts on a serious face. “But you’re still in trouble this week, so I’m making this lesson  _really, really boring_.”

               Miguel laughs. “Okay, Tío Héctor,” he says, clearly not believing him (and, really, he shouldn’t). He nestles himself next to Héctor, looking down at the book with bright eyes.

               “All right, chamaco, let’s catch you up with the rest of the class. First lesson is learning what rests are.”

               “But I  _know_ what rests are!”

               “I said I was gonna make this boring, didn’t I? But if you pay attention, we can get through it pretty quick and get to the fun stuff. Suena bien?”

               “ _Sí!_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> We'll be posting another chapter every couple days or so until A03 is caught up with what we already have on tumblr.
> 
> If you're too impatient for that you can come check us out on tumblr, we're always rambling about Coco and you can catch a LOT of extra teacher!au headcanon flying around. This AU is also a ton of fun because it's constantly being added on to by the Coco community and extra ideas from the fabulous writers and artists there regularly get woven into the story as it progresses!
> 
> https://im-fairly-whitty.tumblr.com/
> 
> http://slusheeduck.tumblr.com/
> 
> [The Teacher!AU idea was originally started by @scribblrhob's art and then primarily added on to by @upperstories's art, two fantastic tumblr artists. The authors of this fic decided to turn their lovely art into a full written story.]


	4. An Unannounced Visit

Imelda groaned as she stood in front of Hector’s apartment door. Her hand was hanging in the air, refusing to knock when she told it to. It had been months since she’d even let herself look at Hector’s apartment, let alone actually try to visit. **  
**

But she’d come all this way after weeks of putting it off and she wasn’t going to fold now. She summoned a vision of Miguel eating his second hot pocket of the day and the horrifying thought sent her knuckles rapping against the cheap wood.

She did not retreat in the time it took for the door to open, steeling herself against what was to come. She was here for Miguel, not Hector.

The knob rattled from inside and the door swung inward as Hector opened it.

“Imelda?” His mouth hung open in shock, and then his whole face lit up. “Does…does this mean we’re not taking a break anymore?”

  
“I’m here on business Hector.” Imelda said dryly. “My pupil seems to be in a concerning home situation, microwave meals for breakfast is disgusting. What are you feeding Miguel for dinner tonight?”

Hector hemmed and hawed, his gaze moving hopefully to the full bag of fresh groceries that she had balanced on her hip.

“Get out of my way.” Imelda said, sighing irritably and pushing past him and into the apartment. Hector practically flung himself against the wall in his eagerness to let her in.

The apartment was a wreck, not so much dirty as much as carelessly disorganized. Drifts of scattered food wrappers were building up in the corners, video game console cords wound their way up and around the askew coffee table, the sink was full of dirty dishes. Miguel looked up from where he was sitting on the floor by a record player and waved.

“So apparently Ernesto is the clean one?” Imelda said scathingly to Hector.

“You know it, always gotta have a good stage for his livestreams!” Hector said, lunging to gather up a pile of dirty clothes from the kitchen floor and tossing them into his bedroom down the hall. “He’ll be back next week. My apologies, if I’d know you were coming I’d have bought a new apartment, I wasn’t expecting company as divine as yours.”

“Evidently not.” Imelda said. At least that meant that he wasn’t seeing anyone else.

Not…that it mattered.

“Clear off a counter,” She commanded, pointing into the kitchen. “I’m not going in there until there’s space to cook.”

“Your wish is my command.” Hector bowed low, then rolled up his sleeves and dove into the kitchen. He began humming an energetic tune as the accompanying sound of crashing dishes, banging cabinets and running water filled the small apartment.

Imelda walked to the front room and sat on the arm of the couch near where Miguel was listening to a pair of large earphones. He smiled a little and pulled off his headphones, like a true gentleman, but she could tell something was wrong by the way he was clutching what looked like a small photo album.

Her heart ached as she guessed whose pictures were probably in the album.

“What are you listening to?” She asked.

Miguel shrugged, “Just stuff. My dad downloaded it for me a while ago.”

Oh dear.

“Very nice, who’s your favorite artist?” Imelda said, trying to backpedal to safe ground again.

“Well, I can show you a couple that I like.” Miguel said, perking up a little at the question.

He stood and came over to show her his playlist as he scrolled through, extolling the virtues of this guitarist or that lead singer. He was surprisingly knowledgeable for an eight-year-old, but then, he was a Rivera. Anyone related even distantly related to Hector had to have musical knowledge running through their veins.

“The kitchen’s ready for you.” Hector said, walking right up behind where she sat on the arm of the couch. “What would you like me to do next?” He was close enough that she could feel the warmth of his body for the first time in months.

Imelda stood and stiffly walked around him to get to the kitchen. She was still mad at him. She just had to keep reminding herself of that and everything would be fine.

“You wash and chop the vegetables, I’ll get the meat and rice started.” She began unpacking her bag of groceries on the freshly cleared kitchen table. “And once you’re done with that, stay away from the rest of the food, I don’t want a repeat of the chorizo incident.”

Hector grimaced at the memory and nodded, obediently gathering the vegetables Imelda had unpacked to take to the sink. He was, in fact, capable of carrying out directions, just as long as he had adult supervision.

There was a long minute of busy quiet, Hector humming and Imelda measuring and Miguel drifting back to his headphones in the corner by the record player.

“How are you holding up with all this?” Imelda asked, keeping her voice too low for Miguel to hear.

“Ah, every day without you is like a day without the sun, mi amor.” Hector said, looking over as he swept freshly chopped carrots into a bowl.

“You know I meant with Miguel.” Imelda said, consciously trying to deflect his charm. “And you don’t get call me that right now.”

She studiously ignored whatever else his words might have made her feel. He was always charming, it was to be expected, that’s what made him so dangerous.

“Right now?” Hector said, eyebrow raising, “Well how about after dinner?”

Imelda didn’t exactly point her chopping knife directly at Hector, but the way she was holding it definitely became much more meaningful as she glared at him.

“Okay, okay.” he said, still grinning as he backed down, “Miguel and I are doing our best, but it’s definitely taking a lot of getting used to.” His smile faded as he began cutting bell peppers.

“Like, I knew I had a godson out there, but you never really think you’ll have to actually, you know, be a godparent, have to raise them.”

“How did his parents die?” She asked.

“Car accident. Miguel was at home when it happened.” Hector sighed heavily, “I hadn’t spoken to them in ages, I don’t think it’s really hit me yet that they’re gone. And looking after Miguel, that’s been surreal too. I didn’t think it would be as easy as teaching, but, well, I don’t know.”

Imelda bit her lip, watching his shoulders droop as he continued to chop vegetables, like the stress was actually weighing down on him. Hector had never been one to guard his emotions, especially around her. One of his better qualities actually, he was a man who wasn’t afraid to feel, even the hard things.

“Hey, I’ll take the food from here,” she said, touching his elbow as she walked past him to the stove. “Could you play something for us? I don’t want Miguel sitting alone in the corner like that.”

She couldn’t ignore the way he leaned into her touch, however briefly.

“Anything for you.” Hector said with his tired but grateful smile, doubtlessly seeing through her thin excuse for him to do something she knew he would enjoy. “Ay, chamaco!” he called as he went to rinse his hands in the sink. “Practice time, let’s show Imelda what you’ve been working on before we eat dinner.”

“But I’m not any good yet!” Miguel called back.

“¡Si hombre! You’re a natural, go get your guitar.” Hector said, drying his hands.

“He has his own guitar?” Imelda asked.

“Eh, technically it belongs to Chich, but Miguel’s been needing to practice.” Hector said, walking over to pick up his own guitar, the very expensive white one she’d bought him last year, as Miguel drug a second older guitar out of a back room. She could see even from the kitchen that Hector had taken very good care of her gift.

By the time the plucking and tuning of the two guitars was done, Imelda had gotten everything cooking. She leaned in the doorway of the kitchen, watching Hector expertly coach his godson through hand positions and chords. Miguel was laser focused like she’d never seen him before, attentive to everything Hector said and following every instruction. The boy grinned every time he got a chord right and glowed when Hector praised him, which was often.

Soon the very slow and careful, but still recognizable, tune of La Llorona strummed through the apartment. Imelda smiled despite herself, only able to shake her head at Hector when he looked up with a cocked eyebrow and a sly grin. He knew only too well that it was her favorite.

She turned to find dishes to set the table as Miguel continued to pick his way through the tune, stopping only occasionally for Hector to adjust his grip or coach him through a particularly hard bit on his own guitar.

As unreliable as Hector could be sometimes, this kind of patient care with his students was exactly what had caught her heart in the first place. Never annoyed, always loving, Hector could win over even the most closed off students, coaxing them out of their shells with a mix of humor and genuine interest.

If only he could have kept his mouth shut in front of his class, everything would be so much simpler.

There wasn’t technically any rules against them dating, she’d checked, but it was just so embarrassing for everyone to see that she was..well…dating someone that she supervised? Capable of love? Able to completely fall for someone? Unable to live without him?

Imelda frowned as she pulled dishes out of the cupboard and walked them to the table, La Llorona still playing in the background. She was justified in being angry, they had agreed on absolute discretion when they’d begun seeing each other. Imelda hadn’t been ready to let her personal and work lives mix yet, and Hector had fumbled his end of the deal. She couldn’t just let that slide without any repercussions at all, she had to protect her boundaries. That was completely normal and acceptable.

But the thought still followed her while she set the table and finished preparing the fajitas and called the boys to dinner. The meal was nice, if somewhat subdued. There was a lot of excited talk about music and of course Hector’s jokes, but Miguel got less talkative as the night went on, probably getting tired. By the end of the meal though everyone had eaten as much food as they wanted, even when Miguel excused himself early to go to his bedroom he was looking less down than he had when she’d first walked in.

“Alright Hector,” Imelda said, standing and gathering all the dishes on the table. “I brought you a box of cereal for Miguel’s breakfast tomorrow morning so he can have a real breakfast. Please do a real grocery shop tomorrow.”

She walked into the small kitchen and set the dishes in the freshly cleaned sink. When she turned she jumped a little to see that Hector had followed her. He reached out and took her hand gently, watching her expression. She didn’t shake him off, caught off-guard by the sudden feeling of easy familiarity, a feeling that had been so normal for them only a few months ago.

“Thank you Imelda,” Hector said, smiling. “for all of this. I haven’t seen Miguel this relaxed the whole time I’ve had him. You should really think about a career working with kids.”

Imelda tried to make her gaze as frosty as she could, but his nearness was starting to make it harder to remember why.

“I’m still angry with you Hector, I’m here for Miguel, not you.” But she still didn’t pull her hand away.

“Well, I think Miguel will need dinner tomorrow, will you be here for him then too?” Hector said, a bit of mischief sparkling in his eyes. “I’ll buy the groceries this time.”

No, no. He wasn’t getting her back all that easily.

Yes, it would be nice to agree, and yes, she even found herself wanting to, but that would mean letting go of all the anger she’d maintained for so long. She’d worked hard for that. No, she’d grab her phone and keys off the table and leave, she’d done everything that needed doing tonight.

“Don’t be late for class tomorrow.” Imelda said, pushing on Hector’s chest to get him to move.

But Hector caught her hand on his chest, holding it there in his own warm hands.

“Imelda, I’m sorry,” He said, his voice the kind of soft he used when he was being earnest, no jokes. “I’m sorry if I got you in trouble. I was an idiot, I know, I apologize.”

“Hector, it’s not just that.” Imelda said wearily, feeling her anger leave her anyway at the sound of that voice. “You’re just so..unreliable, all the time. I sometimes feel like I can’t count on you if I’m not looking over your shoulder, and I say that as your boss too, not just as a girlfriend. It’s exhausting, Hector.”

“Ah, so you’re still my girlfriend?” Hector said, his face lighting up and getting that maddeningly cocky smile of his as he circled his arms around her waist.

How dare he pull a move like that, but more importantly, how dare her defenses completely crumble as he did! Hector had completely dodged her point, she should leave, should break out of his arms right now, hit him with her shoe, storm out of the apartment.

And he knew it too, she could see in his brown eyes, he knew he was taking a risk, a big one, and was waiting to see what she would do.

It had been so long since she’d kissed him.

“Tio Hector?”

They broke apart with a jolt, looking down to see Miguel staring up at them with folded arms and a disappointed look.

“You said she wasn’t your girlfriend.” Miguel said accusingly.

“Hey now, I never said that,” Hector said, looking a little dazed with emotional whiplash as he looked from Miguel to Imelda. “I only said things were complicated.”

Well, now that the moment had been ruined, this was Imelda’s chance to escape with at least a scrap of her dignity intact.

“Like I said before,” she said, using her directora voice as she walked past both of them and scooped her phone and keys off the table. “do not be late to school tomorrow. Miguel, I’m counting on you to keep him in line.”

Miguel looked over at Hector and sighed. “Do I have to?”

“Call me if you need help.” Imelda said, slipping on her shoes. “I’m only a few doors down if he ever tries to feed you hot pockets for breakfast again.”

“I still can’t believe you told her about that,” Hector said, seemingly recovered from his shock and frowning down at Miguel. “I thought you liked hot pockets?”

“Well yeah, but not for breakfast!” Miguel said.

“Goodnight you two.” Imelda called as she walked out of the apartment, and firmly closed the door behind her.

She strode purposefully back to her apartment, not looking back in case Hector was watching her through his window. Which she knew he undoubtedly was.

Was she mad that she’d nearly kissed Hector, or mad that she hadn’t? Her brain felt like a shaken bottle of emotions that would need time to settle. One thing she did know for sure was that she certainly was not going back tomorrow night.

She glanced back over at Hector’s apartment as she fumbled for her keys. A small, inexplicable smile fought its way onto her unkissed lips despite her best efforts.

Maybe she would stop by to check on Miguel sometime next week, just to make sure he was doing alright.

That sounded like the responsible thing to do.


	5. The Roommate

“Alright Cruzcitos, hopefully you enjoyed that new song! Be sure to like and subscribe to-”

Miguel paused the youtube video on his phone, swiped back the progress bar to the beginning of the video, then propping the small screen back on the bookshelf in front of him.

He picked up his old practice guitar again and scooted forward on the floor as Cruz, the coolest guitar player on the whole internet, began playing  _Duet Through Time_  for what was probably the fifty or sixtieth time that afternoon.

Miguel squinted, biting his lip as he watched Cruz’s finger positioning, mimicking it on the neck of his own guitar. He followed the first few measures fine enough, but when Cruz effortlessly trilled through a cascade of notes Miguel’s fingers fumbled, bumping clumsily into the strings.

Miguel huffed in annoyance as Cruz played on. He reached over and swiped back to the beginning of the song, adjusting an earbud with his other hand. He’d been working to get that trill right for nearly half an hour already and was determined to get it right even if it killed him.

He’d discovered Cruz’s channel a few months ago and had combed through the entire playlist, skipping over all the boring talking videos to find and save the guitar playing ones. Sometimes Tio Hector was too busy doing teacher stuff to practice with Miguel in the evenings, so trying to imitate his new musical idol was Miguel’s backup. At least Cruz didn’t make Miguel play dumb scales a million times every time he practiced.

“-room?”

“What?” Miguel said, pulling out his earbuds and looking up to see Imelda putting a book onto a higher shelf.

“I asked if you’d already gotten all of your things out of Ernesto’s room?” She repeated, picking up several magazines near Miguel and setting them neatly on the coffee table.

“Yeah, I got it all out.” Miguel said, it had taken him forever to gather up all his legos from the second bedroom Tio Hector had been letting him play in. “Do you need any other help cleaning?”

Imelda and Hector had been straightening things all afternoon, preparing for the return of Hector’s roommate, someone named Ernesto, who apparently was kinda a clean freak. Hopefully Ernesto wouldn’t be mad that the extra room “Ernesto’s studio,” as Hector called it, was now being used as Miguel’s bedroom.

“No, I think we’re about done,” Imelda said, putting her hands on her hips and surveying the freshly picked up apartment. “I think this is as good as it’s going to get. I’m going to make myself a quesadilla, would you like one?”

“Si, por favor!” Miguel said, smiling up at her.

“I’ll take one too!” Tio Hector called from the back room.

“I wasn’t asking you,” Imelda called back as she walked to the small kitchen, “you can make your own snack.”

Miguel giggled as he turned back to his phone. It had been a little weird when Imelda had started visiting their apartment, but now Miguel looked forward to it. Besides getting to eat food that wasn’t burnt, having her over also meant Hector sang and joked all evening instead of doing boring stuff, like falling asleep on the couch while grading papers.

“But you made me one the other day?” Hector said, walking down the hall to lean in the kitchen doorway, an exaggerated pout on his face.

“Exactly, I need to stop before you think you can depend on me for all your quesadilla needs.” Imelda said, swatting at Hector with a hand towel as she walked past him to the fridge.

Miguel rolled his eyes as hard as he could as he put his earbuds back in. Tio Hector and Imelda kept saying that they were “only friends,” that Imelda kept coming over more and more frequently because she wanted to check on him, but Miguel knew they were both liars. He knew what flirting was. After all, he’d seen it whenever Mamá and Papá had been gross and kissed and stuff.

Miguel bit his lip, hard. He hadn’t meant to think about his parents.

He pulling his guitar closer to his chest, squeezing his eyes shut and waiting for the empty pain inside to go away. He wasn’t going to cry. The school counselor said crying was normal, that he should cry if he wanted to, but he knew that crying was for babies.

Besides, if he cried then Hector would get sad too, which would make it even worse.

“-come in.”

“What?” Miguel said, quickly wiping at his nose as he pulled out his earbuds, trying to seem as normal as possible as he looked around at Hector.

“I was just saying Ernesto’s about to come in,” Hector repeated. He was staring at his phone with a slightly long-suffering expression, “and he says that he’s going to be filming, so he wants all of us to “act natural” for his end-of-tour video.”

“His what?” Miguel asked.

“You still let his videos hijack your life like that?” Imelda said, turning on the stove and looking disapprovingly at Hector over her shoulder. “Please tell me he’s going on tour again soon?”

“Oh be nice.” Hector said, smiling wryly, “it’s really not that bad once you get used to it.”

Miguel looked towards the front door as the doorknob rattled with the sound of someone fumbling to get a key in the lock.

“That’s because you’ve been desensitized from overexposure to ego.” Imelda said dryly.

“But why is he filming?” Miguel asked, but before anyone could answer, the front door swung open, revealing a casually dashing man with a duffle bag in one hand, a video camera in the other, a guitar case slung across his back.

“And here we are!” The man said enthusiastically to his camera, shouldering his way into the apartment with all of his luggage.

He swung the camera around to see the inside of the apartment before turning it back on his own face. “Home sweet home! Thanks so much for the great tour, amigos, it really was a blast to get to play for you all. As always, be sure to like and subscribe, and hit that little bell in the corner to get a heads up whenever I upload a new video. Alright Cruzcitos, until next time, never forget to seize your moment!”

Miguel stared open-mouthed. His forgotten guitar tipped forward off his lap, hitting the floor with a hollow bang.

Ernesto looked around at the noise, eyebrows furrowed and bright smile gone as he snapped the side screen of his video camera closed against his leg. “What was that?”

“Welcome back!” Hector called from the kitchen, leaning across the bar counter to see Ernesto. “Good tour?”

“So good.” Ernesto said, his smile back, but far more relaxed than the one he’d used for the camera. “Would have been even better if you’d come, amigo.”

Ernesto stepped forward to the bar and did a double-take when he spotted Imelda, who kind of grimaced as she acknowledged him with a lackluster wave.

“Whoa,” Ernesto said, taking a step back in shock, “Imelda, long time no see! I really should have guessed you two were back together when I walked in to such a clean apartment.”

“I’m just visiting, Hector and I are not back together.” Imelda said firmly, turning back to the stove.

Behind her back Hector silently shrugged his shoulders at Ernesto, tipping his hand back and forth as if saying we’re kinda back together?

Ernesto nodded, a knowing smile on his face. “Aha.” He turned to look at Miguel, whose brain was still reeling in shock. “And hey, you must be Miguel.”

“You, you know about me?” Miguel managed to stutter, getting to his feet.

“Well sure, you’re all Hector’s been talking about.” Ernesto said, looking away as he set his duffle bag on the floor.

“You’re Cruz!” Miguel burst out, his excitement finally breaking through his shock, “You’re actually him! I’ve watched all you guitar videos a million times! Are you really Tio Hector’s roommate?”

Ernesto raised an eyebrow, some of the energy of his camera smile coming back. “Hector, you didn’t tell me your kid was a fan.”

“What? Miguel, I thought you knew.” Hector said, looking surprised, “I mean you’ve been practicing  _Duet through Time_  all afternoon, I swear I’ve mentioned it before.” 

“I can’t believe it!” Miguel felt like he was going to burst with excitement, starting to bounce up and down. He was going to live in the same apartment as Cruz, his music hero and the best guitar player on the whole internet, maybe even the whole world! “Can I watch you play guitar? Hector’s been teaching me, but I always try to play like you do!” 

“Ha, and here I thought I could relax.” Ernesto joked, shooting Hector a look before smiling at Miguel and pulling a white bedazzled iphone from his pocket. “Sure kid, I can’t say no to a fan. In fact, come over here so I can get a picture of you.”

Miguel practically flew to Cruz’s side and smiled widely as Ernesto took a selfie of them both.

“We’ll see what Instagram thinks of my new roommate.” Cruz said, typing something on the phone and winking down at Miguel.

“Just make sure that-” Hector started to say, but the buzzing of his own phone cut him off. He pulled it out and answered it. “Ayyyyy, Chich!”

Hector’s voice was overly bright as he turned away from the others, “How are you- no, yeah…No, it’s fine, it’s fine, just the- no, yeah I get it… Haha, you’re such a kidder Chich. No, I just need the van for next weekend, but it needs the back left tire replaced… Well I would, but I’m taking my godson to Santa Cecila for the holiday… Well I could could probably pay you back next week…”

“Hold on,” Ernesto said, looking up from typing on his iphone, “Hector, next weekend is Dia de los Muertos.”

“I know,” Hector said, putting his phone to his chest as he looked over, “that’s why we’re visiting Miguel’s family, for the holiday, he hasn’t seen them for a couple months.”

“But we have a performance that Saturday night,” Ernesto said, frowning and stuffing his phone back in his pocket. “you promised you would come. We booked it six months ago.”

Miguel looked at Hector, an uncomfortable panic in his stomach. He’d really, really been looking forward to seeing his familia again for the holiday.

“Aye, no, I forgot!” Hector said, grimacing, “I’m really sorry Ernesto, I apologize for that, I completely forgot with everything that’s been going on. Sorry, Chich, just one second.” He said, turning back to the phone briefly before looking back up, “Ernesto, I can’t make it, I already promised his abuelita we’d come.”

“Well then you go and tell his abuelita that you double-booked yourself,” Ernesto insisted, putting his hands on the counter, “they can come pick up the kid if it’s that important to them. We had this booked way in advance Hector, we’re going to lose ticket sales if you back out. Besides, it sounds like you don’t even have a working car anyway.”

“I’ll drive them.” Imelda said from the stove.

All eyes turned to look at Imelda, who casually flipped a quesadilla, then looked up at Ernesto, a clear challenge in her expression.

“Imelda, that’s a three hour drive.” Hector said, eyes wide, “I can’t ask you to do that for us.”

“I know, which is why I’m offering.” Imelda said, pulling a plate out a cupboard.“Miguel needs to see his family, your car situation is obviously a mess, and I can visit my friend Ceci while we’re in town. It’s a win-win situation.”

“Imelda…” Ernesto groaned, leaning on the counter, “Please don’t do this, this has nothing to do with you, you’re just enabling his bad planning.”

“No, I’m making sure that my student’s emotional needs are taken care of.” Imelda had the same voice Miguel had heard her use on kids who were running in the halls at school. “I’m not going to let you keep a little boy away from visiting the graves of his recently deceased parents because you want  _good ticket sales._ ”

“You know that’s not what I was saying.” Ernesto said sourly, but he looked away from her and picked up his duffle bag instead. “Fine, whatever, skip town together. I’m going to go unpack, I have video editing to do.”

Miguel shifted uncomfortably as Ernesto walked to the back room, closing the door behind him a little more loudly than was needed.

“You didn’t tell me you were a performer too,” Miguel said hesitantly to Hector. “you can go to your concert if you want.”

“What? No way, I’d take you over a crowded performance any day, chamaco.” Hector smiled, coming around the bar counter to ruffle Miguel’s hair. “Ernesto thinks I’m more important to his audience than I really am. I just write the songs, he’s the face they see on their screens. Don’t let him get to you, he just gets a little worked up sometimes.”

“You really shouldn’t let him push you around like that.” Imelda said, her voice stern but no longer cutting as she flipped the finished quesadilla onto a plate, sliced it, then slid it across the counter to Miguel.

“Will he still let me watch him play guitar?” Miguel asked, climbing up onto the bar stool to pick at a slice of his quesadilla.

“Of course he will,” Hector smiled, taking a slice for himself. “just give him time to cool off, he can never resist an audience. And really, Imelda, thank you so much for the ride, you’re a real joya.”

“It’ll be good to visit Santa Cecilia, I haven’t been in so long.” Imelda said, smiling as she turned back to the stove to make another quesadilla. “And you’ve still got Chich on the phone.”

Hector yelped, grabbing his phone off the counter. “Chich? Hey! I’m so sorry, so about the van, it looks like I won’t be needing it after all…”

Miguel looked back over his shoulder towards Cruz’s room. Hopefully Tio Hector was right and Miguel hadn’t messed up things too badly. Maybe if he was careful to be really nice, he and Cruz could still be friends after all.


	6. Día de Muertos (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first half of the Día de Muertos special!

                “Tío Héctor.”

                “Mmph.”

                “ _Tío Héctor_ , you gotta get up.”

                “ _Mmmmph._ ”

                “It’s Día de Muertos, remember? We’re going back to Santa Cecilia.”

                Héctor groans as Miguel jostles his shoulder. He rolls over, pulling his pillow over his head. “Just five more minutes, chamaco. That’s all.”

                He hears Miguel give a little huff through his nose, but then the room is mercifully quiet. Héctor, pillow still over his head, starts to sink back into sleep, hardly aware of the footsteps that come back into the room.

                “Tía Imelda says that she’s coming in with her boot if you’re not ready in—”

                Héctor is out of bed and halfway out of the room the moment Miguel says “boot,” hurriedly gathering clothes before he bolts out of the room. After a moment, he backtracks and pokes his head back into the bedroom.

                “Wait. Did you call her _Tía_ Imelda?”

                “Yeah?”

                “Does she know you’re calling her that?”

                Miguel shrugs. “She’s the one who told me to. She said it’s easier, but I can’t do it at school.” He frowns a bit. “Is that weird?”

                “Yes.”

                Miguel’s eyes widen. “Is it bad?”

                “No! No, no, it’s really good. Just…not what I was expecting.” He gives a little smile, then shakes his head. “Bueno, tell Tía Imelda to keep her boot on her foot. I’ll be ready in no time.”

~

                They leave ten minutes later than planned, which, despite Imelda’s eyerolling, Héctor says is a victory. He insists Miguel sit in the front for the first leg of the trip—which, Imelda reminds, him _isn’t safe_ for a child as small as Miguel, but two sets of nearly identical puppy-dog eyes are more than even her willpower can handle—and the boy is _completely_ entranced with Imelda’s car. He’s fascinated with the back-up camera, turns the seat heater on, and stares open-mouthed as Imelda connects his iPod to radio without so much as a cord.

                “Tío Héctor, why don’t you have a car?” he asks, twisting around to look at Héctor.

                “Cars are expensive, chamaco.” He leans forward to grin over Imelda’s shoulder. “Maybe if my boss gave me a raise, I could afford one.”

                Imelda snorts, reaching back to push Héctor’s face back. “Maybe if my music teacher would quit gallivanting off on tours, he could save up for one.” She glances up at him in the rearview mirror. “And maybe buy some decent food for his godson, too.”

                “Oh! When you and Cruz get famous, I bet you could get a _really cool_ car like this,” Miguel suggests with bright eyes. Héctor laughs and reaches forward to ruffle Miguel’s hair.

                “You and I think _exactly_ alike, chamaco.” He sends a grin to the rearview mirror. “Hear that, diosa? When—”

                “ _Don’t_ call me that, Rivera.”

                “—Ernesto and I make it big, we’ll be _swimming_ in cars. Fiats, Mustangs, _Porsches_.”

                “And they’ll all break down because they’re heaps of junk in pretty casing.” Imelda glances down at Miguel. “It’ll be a while before you can think about getting a car, but keep this in mind, Miguel: _function_ is much more important than being _flashy_.”

                “ _Pfft._ Miguelito, listen to your Tío Héctor: there’s no point to having a car if you can’t look good driving it.”

                “That’s why your tío doesn’t have a car; he doesn’t look good driving anything.”

                “ _Ah, ah_ , don’t lie to the boy, diosa. It wasn’t too long ago you said that watching me drive—”

                “ _Héctor!_ ”

                “Well, the point is, with cars, appearance is _everything._ ”

                The argument bounces back and forth for a while longer, each trying to win Miguel over to their side; Héctor finally wins out by pulling up pictures of classic Mustangs on his phone. After a bit of gloating on Héctor’s part and accusations of him playing dirty on Imelda’s, it’s time to switch seats; Héctor’s limbs were far too long to be tucked up in the back seat any longer.

                Something shifts in the second half of the trip; Miguel, who had been chirping in on their conversations after the swap, suddenly goes very quiet. Héctor glances back and finds him with his headphones on, staring very hard at nothing in particular out the window.

                Héctor lets out a little sigh. He’d known the distractions couldn’t last the whole drive; this was still the first time Miguel would go home without his parents there to greet him. And his first time seeing them on the ofrenda. And his first time dealing with the waves and waves of “I’m still so sorry” and “pobrecito” and “they still love you, it’s okay to miss them” and…

                “Is he—?” Imelda whispers the start of her question, but Héctor presses a finger to his lips and shakes his head. The kid’s already going to have to deal with everyone whispering about him; it doesn’t need to start before they’re already there.

                Imelda’s teeth dig into her lower lip as she glances up at the rearview mirror to look at Miguel. She looks just as worried as Héctor feels. Which is… _good_ , yes, but if Miguel catches them looking like this, that’ll just make things worse.  So he leans back in his seat with a smile, eyes silently begging Imelda to play along.

                “So, directora, I have some new ideas for the music program,” he says, tone nonchalant. “And since you can’t lie and say you have a meeting like you usually do, let me run it by you.”

                Imelda groans and rolls her eyes, natural as anything, and Héctor loves her even more for that. “ _Fine._ But the moment you suggest something outside the budget, this conversation’s over.”

                “So the fully-sequined outfits for the estudiantina are out?”

                “ _Yes._ ”

                “Qué pena. It really would have put us on the map.”

~

                “I always forget how small this place is,” Imelda murmurs as they pull into the town, peering about for the zapateria.

                “I don’t,” Héctor says, eyes drifting over to the plaza as they passed it. “Just a little farther and you’ll be there; you can’t miss the giant boot.”

                “Are you from Santa Cecilia, too?”

                Miguel’s question makes them both jump; he’s been silent for so long, it comes as a surprise. Imelda glances back at him.

                “Well, no, though my hometown’s not very far. But I have a friend who moved here.” She looks up and smiles as she sees a sign shaped like a boot, proudly displaying “Rivera: Familia de Zapateros.” She pulls off to the side of the road and parks, then opens her door. “But before I visit her, I need to make sure Héctor doesn’t lose you on the way inside.”

                “You have _no_ faith in me, diosa,” Héctor says as he steps out. “As if I could lose…” He peeks over the car to give Miguel a knowing look, but Miguel isn’t there. “ _Miguel_?”

                “Over here.”

                He turns around to find Miguel standing behind him, and he lets out a breath.

                “ _Ay_ , don’t scare me like that, chamaco,” he says, pointedly avoiding Imelda’s smug look as he ruffles the boy’s hair and guides him toward the house. “If I have a heart attack before getting you inside, Tía Elena will _kill_ me.”

                Miguel manages to let out a little laugh, then looks up at the door, lips pressed together hard. Héctor swallows, keeping his hand on Miguel’s head. They both take a breath, and Héctor raps his knuckles on the door.

                The minute the door opens, Miguel is ripped away from Héctor’s side, quicker than either of them can react, and brought into one of Elena’s trademark crushing hugs.

                “ _Ay_ , Migueli _tititito!_ ” He gasps for air as Elena releases him just enough to press at least twenty kisses to his cheeks. “ _Mijo_ , it’s been _so, so_ long!” She immediately attacks him with another flurry of kisses.

                “Hola, Abuelita,” Miguel manages to gasp out as Elena finally pulls back. She tuts as she looks him over, smoothing down his hair.

                “Mijo, you’re so _skinny_. Has your tío been feeding you _anything?_ ”

                “Tía, I promise Miguel is exactly the same size he was when you last saw him,” Héctor says. Elena looks up at him, then finally releases her hold on Miguel. He sends her a wide smile, dimples fully on display, and leans down slightly for the inevitable flurry of kisses.

                Instead, he gets a swat to his nose with la chancla.

                “ _You!_ What kind of boy have I raised?” she chides as Héctor yelps. “You take Miguel and you just _disappear!_ Practically no calls—”

                “I call once a month!”

                “No updates! No visits!”

                “We _both_ have school, Tía, and I live three hours away. There was no way to—"

“I thought he was _dead!_ ”

                “I would have _definitely_ called if Miguel was dead.” He yelps again as la chancla cracks against his shoulder. “He’s perfectly fine! I got him all the way here in one piece and as you can see, _he is very much alive!_ Miguel, tell your abuelita how…” He looks down and finds that Miguel’s vanished again. Probably bolted once la chancla came out. _Smart kid._

                As Elena gives Héctor one last warning shake before putting la chancla back on her foot, Gloria walks by with a laugh.

                “I knew Cousin Héctor had to be home with all that slapping,” she says with a smirk, then glances over his shoulder and catches sight of Imelda trying her best to keep a straight face. “Oyé! He’s brought someone with him!”

                Imelda’s eyes widen and she quickly shakes her head. “Oh, no. No, it’s not like that. I just—” She’s cut off as Héctor takes her arm and pulls her into the house with a big grin.

                “ _This_ is Imelda. She drove me and the kid up today.”

                “ _Imelda?_ ” Another woman, Carmen, calls from the next room. “The one from the letters?”

                “From the _what_?” Imelda looks up at Héctor, but her attention’s diverted by Gloria taking her hands.

                “ _Ay_ , _Imeldita,_ you were _all_ he wrote about this year in his Día de la Candelaria letter! No word on his job, on his music, _nothing_ but Imelda this and Imelda that.” She turns back toward Carmen, still keeping a tight hold on Imelda’s hands despite her attempts to pull away. “You need to see her, Carmen!”

                “I actually need to go…I have a friend I’m supposed to…”

                “Ah, solo cinco minutos, linda,” Gloria assures, patting Imelda’s hands. “Now, how did Héctor fool you into thinking he was remotely close to being on your level?”

                Ordinarily, this would be a _prime_ time for Héctor to jump in to his diosa’s rescue—which isn’t something he got to do very often. But…Miguel hadn’t resurfaced after his disappearance, and worry starts to gnaw in the pit of his stomach. The last thing he wants is to find the boy hidden away somewhere—or _worse_ , being forced into talking about how he’s doing, because today must be _so hard_. So he gives Imelda an apologetic shrug before he slips away.

                The problem with the Rivera household was that they were a _big_ family. Which meant that the house had a _lot_ of rooms and a _lot_ of nooks and crannies for a small boy to hide in. Héctor’s checking his eighth room when he finally hears the _very_ familiar _twang_ of a guitar. He pokes his head into the room next door, and it’s all he can do to hold back the sigh of relief as he sees Miguel sitting cross-legged on the floor, a small guitar in his lap as he picks out a little tune. He waits a moment, looking around the room. It’s very clean, but there’s a scattering of action figures and Lego creations left on top the dresser, and a few luchador posters taped up on the walls. Of _course_ , this has to be Miguel’s room.

                Héctor leans in the doorway, keeping an eye open for any family coming this way. When the song’s finished, he takes a step inside. Miguel’s head shoots back, but he relaxes as Héctor gives him a little smile.

                “Sorry,” he mumbles, setting the guitar down and getting to his feet. “I know I should be out there, but…”

                “Hey, practice comes first,” Héctor says easily. “And anyway, Tía Imelda’s distracting everyone, which means we have a solid ten minutes before we start hearing ‘ _Miguelititito!!’_ and fifteen before we have to start running from la chancla.”

                A little smile flits across Miguel’s face for a brief moment, but he frowns down at his guitar and stays silent. Héctor presses his lips together, then reaches into his pocket.

                “Hey, mira, mira. Look what I found while I was looking for you.” He pulls out a little face-painting set and holds it up with a grin. “ _Pretty_ sure this is Carmen’s, but she won’t miss it for a little bit. How about we head back out as Santa Cecilia’s handsomest calaveras?”

                Miguel rolls his eyes with a little huff, occupying himself with unnecessarily tuning his E string. “Face painting’s lame. Little kids are the only ones who…” He glances up at his tío, who already has a long streak of white paint down his cheek. Héctor sends him a wounded look.

                “Well, now I’ll look ridiculous.”

                Miguel’s lips press together, and he sighs before standing up. “ _Fine._ ”

                “Allà vamos! Now, help me out, chamaco; you haven’t got a mirror in here and I have no idea what I’m doing.”

                For all of Miguel’s pretending to be too cool for face painting, he takes it very seriously. Héctor had been content to give them both basic skulls, but Miguel informs him that that’s _boring_. So he adds swirls of yellows and greens—and a touch of purple—to Héctor’s cheeks and forehead, and Héctor paints red and yellow dots just under Miguel’s eyes, as well as a little green circle right where his mole is. When Miguel finally deems them ready, Héctor’s phone is brought out. He pulls up his camera so they can see themselves.

                “Oyé, look at us! Muy guapo, eh?” he says, grinning as Miguel pulls faces with his newly skeletal visage. “Quick, let’s get a picture before the rest of the family comes looking for us.” He and Miguel put on their best grins as Héctor snaps a photo.  Just as they look it over, Elena calls, “Héctor? Miguel?” from the hallway.

                “See? Perfect timing,” he whispers, then walks over to poke his head out the door. “In here, Tía! We were just getting into the _spirit_ of things.” He grins as Miguel snorts, then is nearly knocked over by the armful of marigolds Elena shoves at him.

                “ _Dios mio_ , Héctor, you’re too old to be playing hide-and-seek like this,” she chides with a shake of her head. “Bueno, Miguel, you go help your Tía Carmen in the kitchen. Héctor, with me.”

                Héctor glances down at Miguel and gives him a little shrug, but they both do as they’re asked. Héctor watches Miguel run out to the patio, then trails after Elena. He adjusts the marigolds in his arms.

                “I thought you usually had the little ones pluck the cempasuchil with you,” he says as they walk, scrunching his nose as a few loose petals tickle it.

                “I do. This year isn’t any different.” Héctor rolls his eyes at the look Elena shoots him.

                “Is this about me not being here last year? I told you, I had…”

                “A performance. Just like you did on Día de la Candelaria and Noche Buena and…”

                 “I send letters!”

                “You _should_ be with your _familia_ , Héctor. What kind of example are you setting for Miguel?”

                Héctor sighs as they make their way out to the courtyard. “Well, I’m here this year. That has to count for something, doesn’t it?”

                Elena glances back at him, then shakes her head as they reach a secluded corner, where a basket is already half-full of orange petals. “How are you doing with him?” she asks quietly as she sits. “Is it too much?”

                Héctor blinks at the question, then shrugs as he sits in the chair beside her. “Well, I got him to smile a few times today. So I think he’s doing well, all things considered.”

                “I mean _you_ , mijo. How are _you_ doing?”

                Héctor blinks, then presses his lips together as he starts to pluck away the petals. “I’m…doing really well. I mean, it’s not _easy_ , but…well, Miguel’s alive and I’m alive—even if we don’t look like it right now—so I think we’re managing okay.” He smiles a bit. “He’s every bit the angelito querido cielito you said he was.”

                Elena looks up at him with a smile. “He’s a troublemaker,” she says frankly, though there’s a definite fondness in her voice, then sighs. “Which doesn’t make things easy figuring out custody.”

                Héctor freezes, and he looks up at Elena with wide eyes. “Are…you already figuring that out? _Now?_ Because the semester’s not even over yet and…”

                Elena shakes her head. “You don’t need to worry. We’ll figure it out before the new year,” she assures with a gentle smile. Héctor stares at her, heart dropping down to the pit of his stomach.

                “Y-you know, New Year’s is _awfully_ close. A-and besides, it’s not very good to move a student to a different school halfway through the year; it messes them up and they don’t perform as well,” he says quickly, plucking petals as quickly as the words spill out of him. “So, you know, I _could_ keep Miguelito until…let’s say summer? He’s really flourishing and I don’t want…” He stops as Elena laughs.

                “ _Ay_ , who left this dulce niño here instead of our tramposo?” She gives him a warm smile. “Oh, I know I give you a hard time, but I’m _very_ proud of how you’ve taken care of Miguel.”

                Héctor’s lip twitches up. “Really?”

                She nods, taking another flower to pluck. “I was so worried about today. But that smile earlier was the first real one I’ve seen from him since the accident. You’re doing very well with him.” Héctor sits up a little straighter, and he opens his mouth to thank her, but she continues, “But I know how focused you are on your music, mijo, and juggling that life won’t be good for you _or_ Miguel. So we’ll get everything sorted for him to come home before too long.” As she finishes with the flower, she leans over to pull Héctor in for a barrage of kisses, not noticing the way he deflated with her words. “ _And_ a few more calls and updates would be nice, chiquito.”

                “Sí, claro,” he replies, putting on a stiff smile. She isn’t _wrong_ ; he really isn’t suited to actually _raise_ a child, especially not with the way he’s living now. But…maybe if…

                _No._ This was a temporary arrangement from the start. Even with how well things were going, it was _only_ because Miguel was staying for a few months. Being a godfather didn’t mean becoming the kid’s _papá._ He needed stability, familiarity, _actual dinners_ …

                He’s pulled from his thoughts as Elena pats his cheek. “I think that should be enough for a pathway. Here.” She pulls a smaller basket from beside her and scoops out a heaping amount of petals. “Take that to the ofrenda room; there needs to be far more than we have in there.”

                “Of course, Tía,” he says softly as he gets to his feet.

                “And don’t dump it on the ground like you used to.”

                Héctor’s mouth twitches, but he can’t quite manage a full smile. Luckily, the makeup hides that. “Well, if I do, I’ll be sure to make it look less like an accident.” He stretches out his back, then makes his way to the ofrenda room. He gives his head and shoulders a shake, trying to brush off the sick feeling that’s building up inside him. The future doesn’t matter right now; tonight is about Miguel getting through Día de Muertos as easily as he can, and Héctor being a sadsack about something he can’t control won’t help at all.

                As he reaches the ofrenda room, his steps slow as he hears Miguel inside. He stops just outside, listening as the boy spoke.

                “…I mean, he’s kinda forgetful and he’s _really, really_ bad at cooking. He gave me a burned tortilla and said that it was ‘well-done’. And then! When I wouldn’t eat it, he shoved, like, _half_ of it into his mouth and ate it! Mamá, it was _black!_ I think he did it just to prove me wrong, but he’s kinda weird, so I’m not sure.”

                _Ah_ , he was telling his parents about Héctor. The thought sent a sympathetic ache right to Héctor’s heart, but he couldn’t help his smile as Miguel spoke so animatedly. He leaned against the wall outside, staying still but listening hard.

                “And did you know that Tío Héctor performs with _Cruz?_ His real name’s Ernesto, but it’s really weird to call him that. But they make videos together and share their apartment and it’s _so cool!_ And get this—Tío Héctor’s _dating_ la directora. I mean, they don’t _say_ they’re dating, but I’m pretty sure they are. It’s _so_ gross, but she’s really nice and makes _really_ good dinners and that’s always when Tío Héctor plays his best songs instead of just showing me how to do simple stuff.”

                Héctor peeks into the room in amusement, eyebrows raised as Miguel said he and Imelda were dating. Just as he’s about to walk in and interrupt by throwing a handful of petals at Miguel, he sees the boy lean closer to the two new photos on the ofrenda.

                “I…I really wish you both were here right now,” he admits softly. “I miss you a lot, and I really want things to go back to the way they were.” He sniffles a bit, but stands up straight. “But…but I’m kind of happy that I’m living with Tío Héctor? It’s a lot of fun. So you don’t have to worry about me. I mean, unless he accidentally poisons me with his cooking, but I think he’s more in trouble with that than I am.”

                Héctor smiles a bit to himself at Miguel’s words, and he figures now’s a good time to come in. He carefully pours the petals out from the basket, making a little pathway from the door, then drops a few petals on Miguel’s head. He laughs as the boy jumps.

                “Don’t tell me your gossiping about me with the family, chamaco,” he says, scattering a few of petals on the ofrenda itself. “Tía Victoria won’t believe anything you say about me. I was always her favorite nephew.”

                Miguel gives a little laugh, then looks back at the ofrenda. He stays quiet for a long moment, eyes locked on the photos of his parents that smiled back at him. “You really think they come back?” he asks softly.

                “Oh, of course.” Héctor dumps the last few petals out right in front of the ofrenda, then sets a hand on Miguel’s head. “At least, if they like you, I think they do. Your parents are probably counting the seconds ‘til sundown, they’re so ready to see you.”

                Miguel smiles. “You think they can hear us, too?”

                “What’s the point of visiting if they can’t get all the chisme? Of course they can hear us.” Héctor glances down as Miguel leans against him.

                “I still miss them,” he mumbles. “Even if they are visiting tonight.”

                Héctor sighs and rubs the top of Miguel’s head. “I know, chamaco. It’s not the same.”

                Miguel stays silent for a long moment, then asks quietly, “Did you feel the same with your parents?”

                Héctor stiffens before he can stop himself. “What?”

                Miguel glances up, brows drawn. “With…your parents? They’re on the ofrenda, aren’t they?”

                Héctor swallows, then shakes his head. “No.”

                “No?”

                “They’re not dead. At least, I don’t think they are. Just…” _Not interested in their kid_. He bites back the end of that sentence; God knows that Miguel doesn’t need Héctor’s familial hangups added on to the strain of tonight. “Well, it’s not important. I have all the family I need right here, living and dead.” He puts on a big smile as he ruffles Miguel’s hair and glances back to the door. “Ah, mira, chamaco. It’s just about sunset. Why don’t you grab your guitar and bring it with us to the cemetery? Then we can show them what a maestro you’ve become.”

                Miguel smiles and nods, starting to run off.

                “Oyé! And grab that Monarcas jersey from my backpack for your papá!” Héctor calls after him. “We’re gonna tell him how they won!”

                “But they didn’t win!”

                “I know, I’m hoping that they don’t get reception in the afterlife!”

                He smiles as he hears Miguel laugh, then turns back to the ofrenda. He looks down at the photos of Enrique and Luisa, then rubs the back of his head with a sigh.

                “This is loco, you know, Quique? Completamente loco. I thought that when you made me Miguel’s godfather and that hasn’t changed in eight years.” He huffs through his nose as he pushes his hand through his bangs. “But I’m _trying_. He’s…he’s a good kid, y’know? He didn’t deserve all of this. You and Luisa didn’t deserve this either, but at least it’s over for you. He still has so much ahead…” He presses his lips together hard, looking at the marigold petals scattered around the ofrenda. “Look. If you’re _really_ coming to visit tonight, could there be a…a _sign_ or something you could give me? With what I’m supposed to do with him? Because by all means, I _should_ let him come back here, but… _ay,_ Dios mio, the chamaco grows on you!”

He shuts his eyes with a huff, then takes a breath as he opens them. He glances between Enrique and Luisa, then shakes his head. “You know what? Never mind. You don’t want to be bothered by me tonight; you want to see your son.” He gives a small smile. “He’s turning out to be a real musician, you know. You’ll see tonight. You should be really proud.”

                “Tío Héctor! We’re going to the graveyard soon!”

                He looks up as he hears Miguel’s shout, then smiles as he sticks his hands in his pockets, looking back at the ofrenda.

                “I’ll meet you at the cemetery, then, Quique. We’ll toast some of the good stuff for you.”

He lopes out, meeting Miguel halfway through the courtyard and following him out. Today was hard. Tonight might be harder. Not to mention that now the new year’s looming over him like a shadow.

                But…Día de Muertos is about family, first and foremost. And, for as long as he has Miguel in his tiny, tiny family, he comes first. So he grins and jokes and does everything he can on the way to the cemetery to keep the mood up, all while pushing back the worries and pains creeping in on him. Those aren’t important, not now.

Everything in the future can be dealt with when it comes. 

                               

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Upperstories](http://upperstories.tumblr.com/)\--who also an account [ here](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Upperstories/pseuds/Upperstories) and is WONDERFUL--drew THE CUTEST PICTURE OF THE CALAVERAS SELFIE AND YOU ALL NEED TO LOOK AT IT:
> 
>  


	7. Dia de los Muertos: Pt. 2

****_Not feeding them?_

Imelda huffed as she climbed the steps to Ceci’s front door, still fuming at Abuelita Elena’s parting insinuation that it was her fault Hector and Miguel were so skinny.

Feeding those two had practically become a full-time hobby over the past month, it wasn’t her fault that Hector’s young metabolism ran as fast than his mouth. Chances were good that he wouldn’t gain a pound until he hit forty, no matter what he ate.

Imelda rapped her knuckles on the door and folded her arms, turning to gaze at the busy street behind her. The orange glow of the streetlamps illuminated an unusual amount of cars and pedestrians as families and friends walked and sang and danced by, holding armfuls of marigolds, swishing brightly colored dresses, and smiling through carefully painted Calaveras makeup.

She watched as a young family walked by, a father and mother holding the hands of a little girl between them as they cheerfully made their way towards the town cemetery. The daughter had to be about Miguel’s age.

Imelda chewed on the inside of her lip as she watched them go. It had been hard to watch Miguel and Hector both grow quiet and solemn the closer they got to Santa Cecilia. Imelda could only hope that her two boys would find a way to enjoy themselves at least a little over the course of the night, despite the somber circumstances.

Imelda turned back to the door as she heard the knob rattle, breaking her train of thought.

“Imelda!” Ceci sang as she threw open the door and tackled her with a huge hug. “How are you? I’m so glad you came to visit! I was starting to think that-?”

Imelda tried to pull on a smile as fast as she could, but Ceci paused, holding her at arm’s length to study her face.

“Oh no, don’t you try hiding that face from me hermana, don’t tell me that man of yours ran his mouth again?” Ceci said, her expression growing as stern as Imelda’s could. Having grown up together, their business faces were a matched set.

“No, no, no. Nothing like that.” Imelda said, grinning and hugging her back. “It’s good to see you Ceci.”

“Don’t you think you’re sidestepping this that easily.” Ceci said, smirking and pulling Imelda into the house, shutting the door behind them. She called back as she led the way down the hall to her seamstress studio. “I’m getting the full debrief on your post-break-up life, right here, right now. I want all the details.”

Imelda groaned as she dropped onto an overstuffed chair in the studio, watching Ceci flit around a mannequin draped in a beautiful green dress with a daring cut. Ceci worked with cloth the way Hector did with music, both beyond Imelda’s understanding, but with fantastic results.

“You already know everything important.” Imelda said, kicking off her shoes and tucking her feet up on the cushion. She leaned her head on the arm of the couch. “He messed up and we broke up. Simple as that.”

Ceci scoffed around the pins she held between her lips, “Girl, how long have we been friends?”

“Too long.” Imelda smirked.

“Exactly.” Ceci nodded, pulling up and tucking a bit of skirt into a complicated pleat before pinning it. “Which is why you’re going to cut the crap and tell me why you haven’t married this man yet.”

Imelda snorted. It really had been too long since she’d had the pleasure of being around Ceci’s blunt observations. She might have glasses, but she could spot anything ingenuine a mile away and had zero tolerance for it.

“Hector is not marrying material.” Imelda said. “He’s irresponsible and unfocused, and, he’s, well he messed up.”

Imelda squinted at her own words once they were out of her mouth. When had her mental tally against Hector started sounding so pitifully weak? That’s really all she had left against him? She could have sworn it sounded much more damning in her head.

Ceci looked even less convinced, raising a perfectly manicured eyebrow as she stared Imelda down from over the mannequin’s shoulder.

“That’s really the best you’ve got?” Ceci asked. “Are we talking about the same Hector anymore? This is the man who is the best loved teacher in your school, single-handedly rescued the school music program, is raising his godson, taught you how to ride a motorcycle, and on top of all that is  _super_  attractive? That Hector? That’s the one we’re talking about, sí?”

Imelda found herself reaching for a pillow and hugging it to her chest like a shield. She’d already had this conversation a million times in her head, had already won it a million times. She didn’t like how quickly she was losing when the argument was against Ceci instead.

“Hmmmm.” Ceci’s cryptic expression looked like it was somewhere halfway between irritatingly knowing, and patiently exasperated.

Imelda waited, bracing herself for Ceci to launch her next attack, but instead Ceci continued working on the dress instead, humming idly to herself as she pinned and tucked.

“Aren’t you going to ask me why I’m still mad at him?” Imelda asked reluctantly, giving in when the long pause become too much to handle.

“Don’t have to.” Ceci said, taking the last pin from her mouth with a chuckle. “It’s because you’ve got some serious pride issues, hermana.”

If anyone else, any colleague, friend, parent, brother,  _anyone_  had said that to Imelda, she would have descended upon them with a kind of righteous anger that had made grown men quake. But hearing it from Ceci wasn’t an insult. It was a fact.

Even, probably especially, if it was an ugly one.

“I don’t know what to do.” Imelda said softly into the pillow, feeling extremely exposed.

“Here’s the thing.” Ceci said, walking to a large shelf and rifling through several bolts of cloth. “Everything I make needs a different kind of fabric. Cotton works for most casual clothes, denim is best for jeans. If you want to get fancy you pull out the silks and satins, it’s a higher price tag, but they get the job done in the way that only a silk or satan can.”

“Ceci, I don’t need a cloth metaphor for my love life.” Imelda groaned.

“And people are as different as different kinds of clothing.” Ceci said, cheerfully ignoring Imelda as she pulled a bolt of green cotton cloth off the shelf. “For example,  _I_  need a man that can handle himself, someone that’s already got his own thing going that I don’t have to take care of. I’ll find that someone someday and it’ll be because I know what I’m looking for. You on the other hand…”

Imelda watched as Ceci slid the green fabric back onto the shelf and pulled out a roll of silky deep purple cloth instead, letting some of the fabric spill off the roll to shimmer softly in the bright lights of the studio.

“You,” Ceci held up the violet cloth, “don’t need a man that can handle himself, you need a man that can handle  _you_. And let me tell you girl, that’s a much rarer cloth. It’s going to cost you, it’s going to take a lot of patience to get it cut into the pattern you want, and when you’ve got it you’d better be careful how you treat it. You and that cloth are going to make each other look stunning. You’ve got the determination to take on that kind of cloth, Imelda, don’t miss out just because you’re impatient.”

“But how do I, uh…purchase the cloth?” Imelda said, trying to figure out how best to phrase her response.

“Don’t stretch the metaphor.” Ceci said, replacing the roll of fabric. “Sorry Imelda, but it sounds like you’ve painted your way into a corner with this one, I think the only way out is going to be a lot of pride swallowing. Knowing you, Hector’s had to put up with an awful lot of ice over the past few months. He’s obviously a stubborn one, but no one can hold-up against frostbite forever.”

“What if, I don’t know, what if I’m wrong? What if it doesn’t work out?” Imelda said, the question too loud inside her head not to ask, even if it made her sound like an insecure teenager again.

Hector’s loving patience, his cheerful persistence, the devoted way he clung to the edges of her life, even if he wasn’t welcome at its center anymore. It was all creeping into her mind, taking center stage for the first time in months and forming into something that felt an awful lot like guilt.

“Don’t make me throw my good cloth scissors at you.” Ceci said sternly, shaking them in Imelda’s direction. “You two are adorable together, we’ve already established that you’re being a stubborn idiot, and from what you’ve told me it’s obvious that he worships the ground you walk on. The only thing you’ve got to worry about is him wising up and moving onto someone else who has the brains to apologize when she’s held a grudge too long. I’m not letting you miss out on him hermana, you’ve gotta get your act together.”

Imelda didn’t realize what she’d been afraid of until Ceci named it, what if Hector did move on? What if he decided that she was too much to handle and found someone else to sing and play his guitar for? Someone else he could take up on the rooftops and whisper sweet nothings to? Someone else to make endearingly stupid jokes with?

Imelda didn’t know who this imaginary tramp was, but she did know that she was ready to take her out with a boot if she ever even got close to Hector.

“Fine.” Imelda said, letting her anger turn into annoyance. It helped to mask the fear she suddenly felt at the thought of having to apologize. Anger was her safe space, she could do anything from anger, even apologize. “I’m going to go and apologize to Hector.”

“En eso tienes razón.” Ceci said, nodding triumphantly and smiling as she popped open another box of pins. “But not yet, you only just got here, I get to keep you for at least another hour after you’ve come all this way. Now tell me more about his godson Miguel, from what you’ve told me he sounds absolutely adorable!”

“He really is.” Imelda said, pulling the pillow closer.

A whole hour to rehearse in her head all the ways her apology could backfire, ways she could potentially somehow mess things up badly enough to send Hector packing for good.  

But no, he still loved her, he’d never stopped showing it in a thousand small ways, he had the biggest heart she’d ever seen, which was why she loved him back.

She let out the smallest of pained sighs, quiet enough that Ceci wouldn’t notice.

It was going to be a very long hour.

***

_Just a heads up, we’ll be at the cemetery with la familia for the next while._

Imelda looked up from Hector’s text message to see the festively decorated gates of the Santa Cecilia cemetery in front of her. They were hung with garlands of orange flowers, admitting a steady stream of townspeople making their visits to the graves of deceased loved ones.

She could text Hector to tell him she was here, to come and get her, but if she went looking for him instead it might earn her a few extra minutes to try to collect her thoughts. Or feelings? Whatever it was that was spinning around in her head and chest and making it very hard to think.

Imelda carefully picked her way through the cemetery, winding around candlelit headstones and graves laden with offerings from loving family members.

This was the first year that she’d missed spending the holiday with her own family. Her twin brothers had oooed and winked obnoxiously when she’d told them exactly why she’d be missing it this year, but maybe their teasing hadn’t been so stupid after all.

She nearly missed spotting Hector as she walked by behind him, his lanky form leaned against the wall of one of the raised tombs. He was alone, meaning Miguel must be with some of his family in a different part of the cemetery if Hector had been able to steal a quiet moment for himself.

Imelda hesitated, he hadn’t seen her yet and she took a moment to watch Hector as he gazed out over the cemetery. His head was leaned back against the wall, soft warm candlelight flickering across his face, all done up with Calaveras paint now. Had Miguel convinced him to put it on? Or maybe it had been the other way around.

He was also completely still, something unusual for the energetic Hector Rivera. Imelda had only seen him like this the few times she’d caught him writing songs, lost deep in concentration. But this time he didn’t have a pen in hand, the thoughts weighing him down must be something other than music.

What had happened in the last hour that could have made him so still and weary looking? It stung deeply to think that perhaps the pain she’d put him through could be part of it.

Imelda walked quietly up to him, gently taking his arm and leaning her head against his shoulder.

Hector jolted, then stiffened in shock as he looked down and saw who it was. He didn’t move a muscle, like she was a butterfly that had landed on his arm that he was desperately afraid of startling away.

“I, uh, Imelda?” Hector said hesitantly, raising his other hand as if unsure what to do with it. “did you maybe have a little too much to drink at Ceci’s tonight?”

Imelda couldn’t help chuckling a little, “No, I’ve just been…thinking. A lot. At Ceci’s.”

“Oh?” Hector’s voice was a cautious mix of disbelief and something that sounded a lot like hope. “And…what were you two thinking about?”

“Purple cloth, and how it’s hard to come by.” Imelda said, resting her head on his shoulder.

“See, this is generally where I’d have a witty comeback, but you’ve gone and left me without a clue.” Hector’s free hand gently came to rest where her arms were wrapped around his. “But, I’m assuming purple cloth was a good thing?”

“Thank you for being wonderful, even when I wasn’t.” Imelda said quietly. It wasn’t really an apology, but it felt like something inside her was going to shake apart if she didn’t take this one step at a time.

“Diosa.” Hector said, so softly. He turned to face her, his big brown eyes wide and drinking her in, looking even brighter than usual through his makeup.

“You look muy guapo as a skeleton.” Imelda said, her voice not trembling, even though she felt like maybe the rest of her was.

He gently wrapped his arms around her waist, moving slowly, as if half-convinced she might startle away from him. Her own hands came to rest on his ribcage as she looked up at the man who was a perfect mess, but who was  _her_  perfect mess. All the fear and anger and guilt that had been fluttering around inside her faded away, replaced instead by the achingly familiar warmth of being close to Hector that she hadn’t felt in far too long.

“Mi amor,” Hector murmured, his smile soft. “I think I must be dreaming again.”

“Not this time.” Imelda smiled back.

He slowly leaned in and their lips met, hesitantly, gently. Then again, more sure this time as their mouths remembered  _exactly_  how to kiss each other. His strong arms pulled her closer against him and her fingers traced across his cheekbones, combing through his tousled black hair as the past several months fell away in a moment.

She’d missed this so much, she’d missed  _him_  so much. She hadn’t let herself realize just how much until now and the overwhelming feeling of relief made her feel like crying.  

When their kiss ended Imelda buried her face in Hector’s shoulder, breathing in his achingly familiar scent of lavender laundry soap and pencil shavings. His arms wrapped around her, holding her tightly as she hugged him.

“I’m sorry.” She said quietly.

“I’m the only one who should be sorry, mi vida.” Hector gently kissed the top of her head. He didn’t sound angry or hurt, just relieved. “You’re always worth the wait.”

Imelda felt like she could have fallen asleep right there in his arms, the feeling of safe contentment was so strong. Hector continued to hold her close. He was always the last to let go of their embraces, she knew he would gladly stand there for hours, as long as she would let him. He stroked her hair as they looked out over the cemetery together, the deep purple of the night sky stretching above them, warmed from beneath by the yellow-orange glow of the flickering candles all around them.

“Here comes Miguel.” Hector said with a smile.

Imelda looked up to see the boy trotting over, weaving around headstones with a small guitar slung over his shoulder. A hairless xolo puppy was jumping around his ankles, yipping excitedly as he went.

“I’m just going to say it right now,” Imelda said, her head still resting on Hector’s chest. “I don’t care what he says to you, that dog is not getting in my car.”

“Ayyy, so quick to judge a dog by its cover, mi amor.” Hector laughed. He lingered on the last two words like they tasted sweet in his mouth.

“I have a cat to think about and you have a fussy roommate who would lose it were that thing were to come into his apartment.” Imelda said, taking a last deep breath of Hector’s scent before pulling away from him. “Trust me, it’s the best plan for everyone, especially that poor dog.”

“Tio Hector! Tia Imelda! I found this dog and his name is Dante and can we please-” Miguel stopped short when he reached them, his excitement turning to disgust in an instant. “You guys have been kissing?”

“What? No.” Hector said with a straight face, putting his hands on his hips. “How dare you accuse us of such a thing, chamaco.”

“Your face paint is super messed up.” Miguel said flatly, rolling his eyes. “Does this mean Tia Imelda has to live with us? Dante and I really don’t want to sleep on the couch.”

Imelda snorted in laughter and Hector’s ears turned red with blushing as he pulled out his phone, flipping on the camera to get a look at his Calaveras, which was indeed looking the worse for wear at this point.

“No, I’m not moving in, and no, Dante isn’t coming with us.” Imelda said, “I’m sure he’d be much happier living here Santa Cecilia.”

“ _Please_  Tio Hector!” Miguel said, turning to Hector with puppy eyes that easily outdid his new canine friend.

“Sorry mijo, it’s not my car.” Hector said, although Imelda caught his questioning glance and had to subtly shook her head no.

“It’s getting late, we should be heading back soon anyway.” Imelda said, looking down at the gangly puppy that now seemed to be gnawing on its own foot. Who knew what would happen to it were it to come within a mile of Ernesto. “Let’s get on back to your Abuelita’s house so we can say goodbye alright?”

“Maybe Dante can stay with Abuelita?” Miguel said excitedly, patting the small dog on the head and turning to lead the way back out of the cemetery. “And I can come visit him too?”

“That one’s up to her.” Hector said, smiling as he and Imelda started after Miguel.

Imelda smiled back as Hector took her hand, his long musician fingers slipping between her own as they walked.

She would have to remember to send Ceci whole gift basket of good cloth scissors.


	8. The Birthday Livestream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Formatting this is a BEAR, so please forgive the massive spaces between chats. I can't figure out how to make them go away just yet.

 

               The tweet goes out late on the 29th. Even so, by 6:45 a.m. the next day, the stream is _packed._ The cheery little “Stream will start soon!” sign is up, and the chat is already lighting up with thoughts about what the surprise stream’s going to be.

 

 

 

 

>                 **Littlebear119** : I bet they’re releasing a new album!
> 
>                 **veramaj** : then héctor wouldn’t be surprised tho
> 
>                 **Littlebear119** : Truuuuuueee.
> 
>                 **hectorriveraseyelashes** : Do…you guys not know what day it is?
> 
>                 **veramaj** : what?
> 
>                 **Littlebear119** : It’s Sunday?
> 
>                 **hectorriveraseyelashes** : omg you guys don’t know lmao. Preciosooooos.

                The chat quickly devolves into “CRUUUUUZ” and “NESTO HI NESTO <3” as the stream switches on. The screen’s fairly dark, but Ernesto’s face is _just_ visible as he whispers to the camera.

                “Hola, Cruzcitos. So I know a lot of you were upset that Héctor couldn’t be there with us on Día de Muertos.”

                There’s a general burst of agreement from the chat.

                “I know, I know.  So, since we couldn’t spend the day with you, I figured you all could spend the day with us.”

                There are several crying-face emojis and “!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”s in the chat.

                “And today’s no ordinary day. I’m sure some of you know it’s my amigo Héctor’s _birthday_ today. So, Cruzcitos, we need to start the day off properly.” He switched the camera to face forward as he slowly opened the door. Beneath a heap of blankets, a gangly leg hung off the bed and a lanky arm was slung over a pillow. “Mira mira, here’s our Sleeping Beauty now,” Ernesto whispers as he creeps into the room. “And there’s only one way to wake someone up on their birthday.”

                The chat goes quiet as Ernesto sucks in a deep breath. He pauses when Héctor shifts beneath the blankets. Then, once he goes still…

“ _ESTAS SON LAS MAÑANITAS  
QUE CANTABA EL REY DAVID…”_

Héctor flies up off the bed as Ernesto belts “Las Mañanitas” as loud as he can, and immediately a pillow is thrown toward the camera.

                “ _Tú maldito hijo d_ —!!”

                “There are children watching this, Héctor!”

                “It is _seven in the morning, tú pin_ —”

                “ _Cruzcitos, cover your ears!_ ” A sweatshirt collides against the camera; both Ernesto and the chat are _dying_.

  

 

 

 

>                 **Littlebear119** : OMGGGGGGG
> 
>                 **musiica-vida** : lmao
> 
>                 **p0c0l0c0** : I CAN’T BREATH OH MY GOD
> 
>                   **veramaj** : pobre hector but rip cruz

                The camera jostles as a _thud_ that sounds suspiciously like a shoe hitting a wall rings out, and it quickly turns as Ernesto runs out and shuts the door. He switches the camera back to face him, a big grin still on his face.

                “So our Héctor _might_ not be much of a morning person. _But_ our celebration of Héctor’s birthday is just starting; come back around eleven for the next stream.” Ernesto ends the stream with his trademark wink and smile.

  

 

 

 

>                 **Littlebear119** : Aw, boo, I can’t come to the next one :’(
> 
>                 **p0c0l0c0** : Don’t worry someone’ll record it.
> 
>                 **hectorriveraseyelashes** : I hope poor Héctor gets to sleep a little bit more.

~

                The next stream starts promptly at eleven. Another chorus of “HI NESTO!!!” and “CRUUUUZ” fills the chat, but Ernesto looks none-too-pleased. He lets out a sigh before sending a withering look to the camera.

                “So Cruzcitos, tell me this. What do you think is the best way to spend your birthday?”

                The chat rings in their answers.

 

 

 

 

>                 **hectorriveraseyelashes** : Backstage passes to one of your shows.
> 
> **hectorriveraseyelashes** : And getting to pet Héctor’s hair for an hour.
> 
>                 **veramaj** : a nice dinner with my bf
> 
>                 **musiica-vida** : UM SORRY WHAT @hectorriveraseyelashes
> 
>                 **hectorriveraseyelashes** : You heard me.
> 
>                 **Cruzita41** : I would party ALL DAY!!!

                Ernesto nods at the answers that pour in (He does a double-take at one of them, and the chat is generally certain it’s hectorriveraseyelashes that earned it.), then huffs and shakes his head 

                “See, you all have _good_ ideas on how to spend your birthdays. But Héctor…my friend Héctor decides that the best way to spend _his_ birthday—”

                He turns the camera around, and the punchline of his joke is lost in the chat’s reaction.

  

 

 

 

>                 **musiica-vida** : GLASSES?????
> 
>                 **Cruzita41** : GLASSES!!!!!
> 
>                 **veramaj** : since when does hector wear glasses?????
> 
>                 **p0c0l0c0** : GLASSES
> 
>                 **musiica-vida** : @HÉCTOR PLZ WEAR YOUR GLASSES ALL THE TIME
> 
>                 (hectorriveraseyelashes merely posts several crying faces and prayer hands)

                Héctor is tucked up on the sofa, green pen in hand and thick-framed glasses on his nose as he goes through several papers. Ernesto snorts as the reactions come in.

                “Héctor, look up.”

                Héctor sighs, but does in fact look up. “ _What?_ ” he asks exasperatedly. (hectorriveraseyelashes floods the chat with various heart, crying, and prayer emojis)

                “Apparently you should wear your glasses more often.”

                “ _No._ ”

                (The disappointment in the chat is almost _audible_.)

                Ernesto sighs. “Sorry, Cruzcitos, but as you can see, Héctor Rivera is a tough man to sway. He won’t wear his glasses, and he spends his birthday _grading papers._ ”

                “Well, they need to be graded by Monday. Do you have to shove that in my face? It’s hard enough reading these kids’ writing without a phone in my face.”

  

 

 

 

>                 **badnugg** : omg señor rivera is actually youtube famous
> 
>                 **musiica-vida** : HE’S YOUR TEACHER??
> 
>                 **badnugg** : lol yeah
> 
>                 **p0c0l0c0** : IS HE A GOOD TEACHER???
> 
>                 **hectorriveraseyelashes** : IS HE HOT WHEN HE TALKS ABOUT MUSIC??
> 
>                 **Littlebear119** : I’m back!
> 
>                 **Littlebear119** : WAIT IS HÉCTOR WEARING GLASSES
> 
>                 **veramaj** : lol u missed a lot bear

                “Hey, Héctor, I think one of your students…” Ernesto trails off as the sound of a door opening comes from a distance. Héctor immediately perks up and smiles off screen.

                “Morning, chamaco. We’re going out for breakfast once I’m finished with these papers.”

 

 

 

 

>                 **musiica-vida** : CHAMACO!!!!
> 
>                 **p0c0l0c0** : HI CHAMACO!!!
> 
>                 **Littlebear119** : Who’s Chamaco?
> 
>                 **hectorriveraseyelashes** : It’s baby Héctor.
> 
>                 **Cruzita41** : Aww, did he just wake up? Buenos días, chamaco!!
> 
>                 **Littlebear119** : BABY HÉCTOR??
> 
>                 **veramaj** : it’s his nephew.
> 
>                 **musiica-vida** : Preeeetty sure he’s his kid. They look like exactly alike.
> 
>                 **hectorriveraseyelashes** : They definitely don’t. Also he calls Héctor Tío so checkmate.
> 
>                 **Littlebear119** : OH!!! HE’S SO CUTE!!!

                “The chat thinks you’re cute, Miguel,” Ernesto says as Miguel walks on-screen. Miguel sends him a surprised look and a shrug.

                “Thanks?”

                “ _Oyé_ , what did I say about filming Miguel?” Héctor asks, voice slightly sharp.

                “The kid has his own channel, it’s not like you’re hiding him,” Ernesto brushes off, then focuses the camera on Miguel. “So, Miguel, do you know what day it is?”

                “Uh, Sunday?”

                “Okay, but do you know the date?”

                Miguel presses his lips together, then looks down at Héctor for help. Héctor’s head falls back as he sighs.

                “It’s my birthday. Ernesto’s making it into a… _thing._ ”

                Miguel’s eyes widen. “It’s your _birthday?!_ Why didn’t you say anything?”

                “Because Héctor hates having fun,” Ernesto cuts in. “So Miguel, what do you want to wish your Tío Héctor on this very special day? He’s twenty-seven, you know.”

                Miguel blinks. “Oh. That’s how old you are?”

                Héctor returns to grading. “How old did you think I was?”

                “Super old. Like thirty-five.”

                The snort Héctor lets out is deemed pure and good by the chat.

                “ _Thirty-five?!_ Ay, Díos mio, then how old do you think Ernesto is?”

                “ _Anyway,_ Cruzcitos,” Ernesto says before Miguel can hazard a guess. “What are some of _your_ wishes for Héctor’s twenty-seventh year on this earth?”

  

 

 

 

>                 **Cruzita41** : I hope he has a wonderful year!!
> 
>                 **p0c0l0c0** : I hope he doesn’t join the 27 club :(
> 
>                 **veramaj** : what’s that?
> 
>                 **Littlebear119** : I hope you guys really make it big!! Being a teacher looks so boring
> 
>                 **p0c0l0c0** : <https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/27_Club>
> 
>                 **p0c0l0c0** : Did the link work?
> 
> **Littlebear119** : OH NO :’(
> 
> **veramaj** : HÉCTOR PLEASE DON’T JOIN THAT CLUB
> 
>                (hectorriveraseyelashes’ wish for Héctor is reported as inappropriate by several members.)
> 
> **p0c0l0c0** : Lashes plz

“Aw, qué amable! Well, we _are_ trying our best to get more gigs and…”

                Ernesto’s words are ignored, viewers instead focused on Miguel as he climbs onto the arm of the sofa and peeks down at what Héctor’s grading. Several heart emojis flood the chat as they talk too quietly to be heard over Ernesto’s talking. Héctor asks something, Miguel pulls a face, and Héctor laughs as he pulls off his glasses (much to the disappointment of the chat.)

                “All right, all right, I won’t let you starve, chamaco. I’ll bring these with me.” As he stuffs his papers into his backpack, he sends the camera with a withering look. “And if you bring out that—” The chat doesn’t miss the quick glance toward Miguel. “-- _darn_ phone while we’re out, Ernesto, I’m throwing it right into the street.”

                “And then you’re paying for it.” The camera switches back to Ernesto, where he gives a dramatic sigh. “Looks like that’s all for now, Cruzcitos.” He glances up as Héctor and Miguel’s voices trail off and a door shuts. He smiles, then adds in a whisper, “Come back around two. We’ll be having another stream then.”

                The screen goes black, and the chat is all abuzz.

  

 

 

 

>                 **Littlebear119** : Héctor really doesn’t seem like he wants to do these streams…
> 
>                 **p0c0l0c0** : It’s part of an act they do. Héctor’s all smiles on whenever he’s on Chamaco’s channel.
> 
>                 **Littlebear119** : CHAMACO HAS A CHANNEL???
> 
>                 **p0c0l0c0** : YES AND IT’S THE SWEETEST THING.
> 
>                 **p0c0l0c0** : My heart grows three times bigger whenever I get a notification from him.
> 
>                 **veramaj** : yeah héctor’s definitely just playing.
> 
>                 **Littlebear119** : I hope he is.
> 
>                 **hectorriveraseyelashes** : I don’t care if he is. I’ll take any excuse to see that man’s beautiful face.
> 
>                 **musiica-vida** : WE KNOW, LASHES.

~

                The next stream starts without so much as a word from Ernesto. The chat goes quiet as the camera focuses on Héctor and Miguel. Both have their guitars in their lap, and Héctor picks out a simple tune.

                “Okay, no looking. See if you can play what I just did.”

                Miguel starts to pluck out the same tune, but he groans as he messes up a note. “It’s so hard!”

                “I know it’s hard, that’s why we’re practicing. You gotta train those ears just as much as your fingers, chamaco.” He plays the tune again. “All right, una vez más. I bet you’ll get it this time.” 

 

 

 

 

>                 **querida9512** : Can Héctor Rivera please be my dad?
> 
> **p0c0l0c0** : This is SO CUTE, I can’t handle it. Gracias, Nesto.
> 
> **Littlebear119** : Does Héctor know Ernesto’s filming?
> 
> **veramaj** : probably.
> 
>                 **musiica-vida** : It doesn’t seem like it, but I’m sure he doesn’t mind.

                A knock sounds out. Héctor doesn’t look up.

                “It’s open! All right, chamaco, play it one more time.” He turns and grins from his place on the floor as a woman pops her head in. “You’re just in time, diosa, Miguel’s just learned a song by ear.”

                The chat is a STREAM of activity.

 

 

 

>                  **querida9512** : IS THAT THE POCO LOCO LADY???
> 
>                 **hectorriveraseyelashes** : Um, I am the Poco Loco lady.
> 
>                 **Littlebear119** : Diosa’s such a pretty name!
> 
>                 **badnugg** : wait, la directora?
> 
>                 **querida9512** : YOU KNOW HER????
> 
>                 **badnugg** : I think she’s the directora of my school…
> 
>                 **badnugg** : omg
> 
>                 **badnugg** : téodora was right about her and señor rivera
> 
>                 **veramaj** : she’s so pretty, she can’t work at a school
> 
>                 **p0c0l0c0** : Héctor works at a school.
> 
>                 **veramaj** : but she’s actually PRETTY.
> 
>                 **p0c0l0c0** : ARE YOU SAYING HÉCTOR ISN’T???
> 
>                 **hectorriveraseyelashes** : The rule in this stream is that we love and respect Héctor Rivera’s beautiful face.
> 
>                 **hectorriveraseyelashes** : Can we block @veramaj?
> 
>                 **veramaj** : omg u guys chill out

                Diosa smiles fondly as Miguel picks out the tune, correctly this time. (The chat is full of praise for him.) “Perfecto, Miguel. Anyway, I just wanted to make sure you remembered that our reservations are at—” She glances up midway through the sentence, then freezes as her eyes lock onto the camera. She quickly pops her head out and slams the door shut.

                Héctor jumps at the slam, then glances down at Miguel before setting his guitar aside to get to his feet. “Imelda? Imelda!” he calls as he heads to the door and steps outside.

                Miguel’s brow furrows, but he looks up at the camera with a shrug. The camera moves slowly to the door, and the barest bits of conversation can be heard through it.

                “Why didn’t you _warn_ me? I would have texted you.”

                “Warn you about what?”

                “That _your roommate_ was _filming._ ”

                “What? No, he wasn’t.” 

                “Did you not see the way he was holding his phone?”

                “He just does that sometimes.”

                “Well, why don’t you go and _ask_ him?”

                “He wasn’t filming! He knows he has to ask before filming if Miguel’s in the room.”

                “He doesn’t have to ask with you?”

                “It’s different. This is what we make part of our living off of. I’m used to it by now.”

                There was an irritated huff. “I can’t help you there. But you’d _better_ be taking care of that little boy.”

                “I _am_ , Imelda.”

                A thrill goes through the chat as Héctor’s voice, quiet as it is, goes _sharp,_ though everyone quickly quiets as they hear his sigh.

                “I’m sorry. It’s…been a long day. Would you believe I woke up at seven?”

                There’s murmuring outside, but it’s too quiet to be picked up by the mic. What _is_ picked up is the creak of a doorknob and a bitten-off word from Ernesto before the screen quickly goes black.

>                 **p0c0l0c0** : So…he didn’t ask permission?

>                 **Littlebear119** : I thought it was off.
> 
>                 **dlcswaifu** : I’m sure it’s fine. Cruz probably thought Héctor knew.
> 
>                 **veramaj** : i hope so. i don’t want them to fight.

~

                There’s no announcement when the next stream is, so everyone is pleasantly surprised when they get a notification that Ernesto y Héctor is streaming an hour later. The first thing everyone sees is…

 

 

 

>                  **p0c0l0c0** : CHAMACO!!!!
> 
> **Cruzita41** : CHAMACOOOOOO
> 
> **Littlebear119** : AAAAA it’s Miguelito!!!!
> 
> **veramaj** : omg look at that precious face.

                Miguel’s brow furrows as he tries to figure out how to best hold the phone, but he grins at everyone’s greetings. “Hola! Cruz let me take over the livestream for a little bit!”

 

 

>                 **Littlebear119** : OH MY GOODNESS HOW PRECIOUS!!!

>                 **veramaj** : we’ve been blessed today
> 
>                 **querida9512** : I mean we already knew November 30 was a holy day.
> 
>                 **musiica-vida** : @hectorriveraseyelashes BE GOOD
> 
>                 **p0c0l0c0** : @hectorriveraseyelashes BE GOOD
> 
>                 **veramaj** : @hectorriveraseyelashes BE GOOD
> 
>                 **dlcswaifu** : @hectorriveraseyelashes BE GOOD
> 
>                 **hectorriveraseyelashes** : OH MY GOD YOU GUYS SHUT UP
> 
>                 **hectorriveraseyelashes** : Of course I’ll be good. My future step-son doesn’t need to know how thirsty I am for his tío.

                Miguel’s eyes dart down to the chat, reading the responses before frowning slightly. “Um, I don’t think you can drink my tío.”

                The chat collectively dies.

 

 

>                 **Littlebear119** : So how are you doing, Miguel????

>                 **Cruzita41** : We saw your practice earlier, you’re so good!!
> 
>                 **dlcswaifu** : Where’s Cruz???

                Miguel grins brightly as he catches the praise among the questions, then settles back in his seat. “I’m fine. Tío Héctor said that he and Cruz needed to talk for a bit, so Cruz set me up here so I could talk with you all!”

                There’s one comment from quetzalcoatl-kun about how they came for Cruz and not some stupid kid, but it’s quickly drowned out by the wild enthusiasm from other Cruzcitos over how they get to talk to Chamaco.

 

> **musiica-vida** : So big fandom question, are you Héctor’s kid or his nephew?

                “Actually, we’re primos! My abuelita is his tía,” Miguel chirps.

 

 

 

>                 **dlcswaifu** : So do you live with him?

                “I do for now.”

 

 

 

>                 **dlcswaifu** : Why?

                Miguel opens his mouth, but closes it and swallows hard without answering. The chat is quick to flood him with other questions.

 

 

 

>                 **p0c0l0c0** : Is your tío a good teacher?
> 
>                 **querida9512** : You’re a fan of Cruz, too, right? What’s it like living with your YouTube idol?
> 
>                 **hectorriveraseyelashes** : On a scale of 1-10 how willing would you be to have me be your new tía?
> 
>                 **veramaj** : have u been to any of their concerts yet?
> 
>                 **hectorriveraseyelashes** : There hasn’t been a concert with both of them since Chamaco came around.
> 
>                 **musiica-vida** : Not that we mind! It’s so sweet to see Héctor taking care of his primo <3
> 
>                 **veramaj** : he could have gone to one before he lived with héctor
> 
>                 **Littlebear119** : What’s your favorite subject in school, Miguel?
> 
>                 **querida9512** : And when’s the next update on your channel?

                “Espera, espera, this is a lot!” Miguel laughs, discomfort gone as he scrolls up through the chat. “Tío Héctor’s a _really_ good teacher, even though he keeps making me do boring things like scales. I used to watch Cruz’s videos to figure out how to play better, but now I can just ask him!” He scrolls a little more. “I _really_ like math. Is that weird? Oh! And P.E.! I’m _definitely_ the fastest on my class’s fútbol team.” He shrugs. “And I don’t really know about updates, I—” He stops suddenly, glancing up as a sharp voice comes from somewhere, just loud enough to be picked up over the mic. “I, uh…” He glances back at the phone. “One second.”

                He sets the phone down, livestream still going on. A creaking door is picked up over the mic, and the two voices are a little clearer. Nearly every viewer turns up their volume to max to catch what’s being said.

                “You’re absolutely _sure_ you weren’t filming?”

                “ _Honestly,_ Héctor, it’s not like I can do it by _accident._ You’ve gotten so paranoid since bringing in the kid.”

                “I’m his _godfather_. I’m supposed to be.” A frustrated sigh. “Look, I’m done, okay? I don’t want anymore filming today. Just let me enjoy my birthday in _peace._ ”

                “We wouldn’t have to do this if you’d come to the Día de Muertos show, you know.”

                “But you couldn’t even ask me before you burst in at seven a.m.?”

                “It wouldn’t have been funny if you knew. And it’s gotten us a stable audience all day.” There’s a beat of silence, then a long sigh. “Look, I’m sorry you’re bothered. I thought you’d be more game for this. Guess I was wrong.”

                “It’s…it’s fine. Just no more filming Miguel unless I know.”

                “I _didn’t._ ”

                “I know, but you _might._ And if I find that damned iPhone around him I _swear…”_

Miguel gives a little gasp, and quick footsteps come back toward the phone before he’s back onscreen.

                “Gotta go! I’ll see you all around!” he says, then quickly ends the livestream.

 

 

 

>                 **Littlebear119** : So Héctor really didn’t know…
> 
>                 **musiica-vida** : Did…Ernesto lie to him?
> 
>                 **dlcswaifu** : He probably didn’t know he was filming.
> 
>                 **querida9512** : But he just said that he couldn’t do it by accident.
> 
>                 **dlcswaifu** : I’ve done a lot of dumb things by accident without knowing I could. He’ll probably delete the footage once he realizes.
> 
>                 **veramaj** : i think it’s scripted. cruz’s done drama things in the past; maybe the views are down.
> 
>                 **musiica-vida** : Ooh, that’s a good point. I think you’re right.
> 
>                 **dlcswaifu** : Nothing gets views like a fight and a kid.
> 
>                 **Littlebear119** : :/ I dunno. I feel weird about this stream.

~

                The last livestream comes late that afternoon. Once again, there’s no notice before the notification goes off on everyone’s phone, and everyone who can manages to pile in to the chat as quickly as possible.

                There’s a general air of confusion as they get a very nice shot of the kitchen.

                “Is it recording now?” Héctor asks.

                “I can’t see. Is there a red circle?” comes Miguel’s voice. The camera tilts, shifting the view to the ceiling. “Yeah, it’s recording, but you’ve got the wrong camera on.”

                “How do I change it?”

                “You see that camera button? Just tap it.”

                “Just tap—” The camera abruptly switches to selfie-mode, and Héctor’s obviously startled by it. “Ah! Okay! Okay, there we go. Hola!”

                The chat is FULL of heart emojis and !!!!!!!!!!!!!’s.

 

 

 

>                 **p0c0l0c0** : FELIZ CUMPLEAÑOS, HÉCTOR!!!!
> 
>                 **musiica-vida** : FELIZ CUMPLEAÑOS!!!!!!!
> 
>                 **Littlebear119** : FELIZ CUMPLEAÑOS!!!!! <3 <3 <3

(Needless to say, the chat is flooded with “FELIZ CUMPLEAÑOS”es.)

Héctor looks caught off-guard by the response, then laughs. “Gracias, gracias! I’m, ah, I’m not really _good_ with this whole livestreaming thing, but I wanted to thank you all for such wonderful wishes!”

 

 

 

>                 **musiica-vida** : IT’S NOTHING WE LOVE YOU HÉCTOR <3 <3 <3
> 
>                 **hectorriveraseyelashes** : That blazer tho…
> 
>                 **Littlebear119** : We all hope you had a wonderful day!!!!

                “That’s, ah, that’s really all I have to say. I actually have to leave in…” He glances off-camera. “Now. But I wanted to let you all know that I appreciate your…” He trails off as the chat bursts to life again.

 

 

 

>                 **hectorriveraseyelashes** : GLASSES.
> 
>                 **p0c0l0c0** : YES PLEASE WEAR YOUR GLASSES.
> 
>                 **p0c0l0c0** : JUST FOR A SECOND.
> 
>                 **musiica-vida** : HÉCTOR PLZ. DO IT FOR US.
> 
>                 **hectorriveraseyelashes** : GLASSESSSSS…

                He sighs as he looks over the chat. “Diosa, look at this.”

                The woman from earlier (“IMELDA!!!” as musiica-vida pointed out), just peeked over Héctor’s shoulder to look at the chat, then tilted her head up with a smirk.

                “See? It’s not just me who thinks you should be able to see.”

                “I can see _just fine._ ”

                “It took you three times to hit the record button,” Miguel pipes up from off-screen.

                “Here.” Imelda looks down as something that sound suspiciously like a glasses case opens, and she holds up the glasses. “You should at least do it for your fans. And for me.”

                Héctor rolls his eyes, but smiles a bit as he leans down slightly so Imelda can slip them on. “Only if you wear your hair down on _your_ birthday.”

                “Deal.” She smiles at him as he stands up straight and pats his cheek. “Muy guapo, cariño.”

                He shakes his head, then looks back at the camera. The chat has devolved into a mess of “SO CUUUUUTE!!!” and “SÍÍÍ MUY GUAPO” and more sparkle emojis and hearts than could be counted. (Save for hectorriveraseyelashes, who floods the chat with crying emojis.)

                “Well, that’s it for today. We really do appreciate your guys’ support, and thanks again for being part of one of the most memorable birthday’s I’ve ever had.” He gives a little wave with his free hand. “Adíos!”

                The video ends, and the chat is beside itself with delight—all the drama from the last stream completely forgotten.

 

 

 

>                 **Littlebear119** : They’re all so cute I just can’t.
> 
>                 **musiica-vida** : I KNOOOWWW
> 
>                 **hectorriveraseyelashes** : I don’t know if I want to KILL Diosa or BE Diosa.
> 
>                 **p0c0l0c0** : Please choose “be”
> 
>                 **hectorriveraseyelashes** : FINE.
> 
>                 **hectorriveraseyelashes** : For now.
> 
>                 **hectorriveraseyelashes** : Those glasses, tho
> 
>                 **dlcswaifu** : I’M A CRUZ FANGRIL AND I LOVE THOSE GLASSES???
> 
>                 **hectorriveraseyelashes** : I found God in those glasses tonight.
> 
>                 **badnugg** : omg i can’t wait for school tomorrow.
> 
>                 **hectorriveraseyelashes** : #jealous
> 
>                 **veramaj** : i’m just so glad that everything’s all right. i knew it couldn’t be a real fight. cruz is way too nice for that.  


	9. Fine

“See Miguel, if you strip away the protective plastic coating like this,” Oscar started, demonstrating on his string of Christmas lights.

“Then you can do all kinds of cool stuff with the bare wiring.” Felipe finished, taking it from his brother. He twisted it around the metal tracks of the electric train set they’d brought from their university dorm.

“Whoaaa.” Miguel crouched on his hands and knees, eyes wide as Oscar plugged in the mangled string of lights.

He squealed with delight as the loose bulbs the twins had set across the track lit up, as if they’d been lit by magic instead of a simple completed electrical circuit.

Felipe raised a triumphant eyebrow at Oscar, who returned it with a satisfied smile. It wasn’t often they had such an appreciative audience. Especially one that wouldn’t report them to dorm management.

“You might want to-“ Oscar said.

“Move your face back.” Felipe finished, tugging Miguel a few inches away from the metal and wire, just before it started spitting sparks.

“Don’t you dare set that Christmas tree on fire.” Imelda called from the couch where she and her boyfriend were snuggled up obnoxiously close. “Mamá and Papá aren’t here to replace it this time, it’ll come out of your own pockets.”

“We’re not going to set anything on fire.” Oscar said, yanking the plug from the wall.

“We’re nineteen Imelda, give us a break.” Felipe finished, quickly using the palm of his hand to snuff out a small spark that had started smoking on the carpet.

The original plan had been to pick up Imelda on their way home to the military base to spend Christmas break with their parents. But no, instead they had been staying the whole weekend.

Not that they had any real choice in the matter, Imelda had insisted she spend a festive weekend with her boyfriend and his godson before they split up to spend Christmas with their own families. Besides, Mamá had made it clear the twins wouldn’t be let past the first security checkpoint onto the base if they failed to gather enough information on the Héctor character that had already broken their sister’s heart before. Unfortunately, he seemed nice enough, making the entire operation extremely boring.

“Can I try with the wires?” Miguel asked excitedly.

“NO.” Imelda and Héctor both said from the couch.

Well, almost boring.

The twins smiled at each other as they wound the stripped wire back onto its spool. If they were trapped here for another day, at least this kid was making it worth their while.

***

“If they electrocute Miguel I am going to strangle them with their own Christmas lights.” Imelda said to Héctor.

She was curled up against him on the couch, watching her brothers with a hawk eye until they grudgingly set they pyrotechnic electrics aside, moving on to tinker with the Christmas tree’s base instead.

“I get the feeling this is an annual thing?” Héctor chuckled, wrapping his arms around her waist and setting his chin on her shoulder.

“No, it’s a daily thing.” Imelda said, leaning back against his shoulder, “Christmas just brings especially exciting disasters. They’re worse than Pepita when it comes to Christmas ornaments.”

“Where is that cat anyway?” Héctor said, looking around.

“She’s in my bedroom, she doesn’t like being around the twins.” Imelda said, “Not after the last time they visited anyway.”

“Poor cat. I wish we could have done this at our place,” Héctor said, chuckling, “but Ernesto hates getting pine needles all over the apartment.”

Imelda fought to keep her smile on. It ate at her every time Héctor unconsciously rolled over for Ernesto, especially since he never seemed to realize just how easily he gave up.

Much more importantly though, Héctor still hadn’t brought up what had to be haunting him as much as it was haunting her: this would be the second to last time the three of them, she and Héctor and Miguel, would all be together. They would see each other again after Christmas, but then it would be New Years and Miguel would be gone.

Imelda had decided to let Héctor bring it up first, Miguel was his godson after all, but he never had. Instead Héctor had stubbornly dodged the topic, despite the fact that Imelda could see it weighing down on him more and more with every passing day.

“Who’s in charge of mistletoe anyway?” Héctor asked.

“What?” Imelda said, pulled out of her thoughts.

“Mistletoe,” Héctor said, nodding at the bin of Christmas decorations Miguel was rifling through. “it’s always hung all over the place in movies and stuff, but you never see it in real life.”

“That’s because in real life you already know whether or not someone wants to kiss you.” Imelda said dryly, shifting to get up off the couch. She needed something to eat, to distract her. “If you need to use a dead plant nailed to a door frame as an excuse to kiss someone, then you shouldn’t be kissing them anyway.”

“Oh, but it’s so romantic.” Héctor said, letting her go and getting up to follow her into the apartment’s kitchen.

“You’re the one that’s a romantic.” Imelda said over her shoulder as she opened her pantry, looking for the buñuelos they’d made together earlier that week.

“I try.” Héctor said with a grin, leaning in the kitchen doorway as he watched her.

“Well you should-” Imelda started, but they both jumped at a very tree-ish sounding crash and eight year-old squealing sounded through the apartment.

Héctor looked over his shoulder and grimaced, “Errrrr, I’ve got this one diosa, I’ll be right back.”

Imelda sighed a very long sigh as Héctor disappeared from the doorway. It had just been a matter of time before the twins destroyed something. At least now the suspense was over.

She had just pulled the plate of buñuelos out of the pantry when Miguel came scrambling into the kitchen, face aglow with excitement.

“Tio Héctor wants to know if you have any duct tape.” Miguel said.

“Oh he does, does he?” Imelda said, raising an eyebrow, trying to imagine what exactly in her living room had been damaged. She turned and started rifling through cabinets and drawers in search of tape.

“Here we are,” she said, handing him a roll of duct tape from a side drawer. “Tell the twins they’re paying for whatever they just broke alright?”

“Si! Gracias, Mamá!” Miguel chirped, grabbing the tape and prancing back to the front room.

Imelda watched him go, stunned.

She was not going to cry.

Miguel hadn’t even noticed he’d called her “Mamá” and she was shocked at how deeply it tore at her. She wasn’t sure when she’d started thinking of Héctor and Miguel as “her boys,” but had noticed it a couple weeks ago. She’d warned herself right at the very start not to get too attached, and it was frightening to see how badly she’d failed.

“Well, I tried to patch it up,” Héctor said, reentering the kitchen, “but it’s going to need-” he stopped, looking concerned when he saw her face. “Imelda, what’s wrong? Are you crying?”

“No.” Imelda said, resisting the urge to wipe her eyes. She wasn’t crying, but her eyes were watering against her will.

“What’s wrong?” Héctor asked, walking to her and taking her hands.

Imelda bit her lip, looking up at him. They were constantly talking about Miguel, about how he was doing in school, how he was sleeping, what they could all do on the weekends to keep him feeling loved and needed. But not about his impending departure. They were both in too deep, they were only going to be able to get through it if they could be a team. Imelda knew it would be a painful topic for Héctor, but she couldn’t let him avoid it any longer.

“Just now Miguel called me Mamá.” she said, watching Héctor’s reaction, “I don’t think he even noticed.”

“He did?” Héctor’s mouth twitched into a smile and he laughed, but it was a tight, thin one.

She was right, this was killing him and he was trying to ignore it.

“Héctor, we have to talk about it him leaving.” she said gently. We can’t ignore this forever.”

Héctor’s hands tightened in hers.

“I, I don’t want to bother you.” He said quietly, his voice pained in a way she’d never heard before. “It’s fine, I can deal with it. It’s not like it’s a surprise.”

Imelda leaned forward to kiss him on the jaw. “I want to know what you’re thinking, mi amor.” she said quietly, looking up at him, “I won’t force you, but I don’t want you to break from trying to keep it all in.”

She waited a long moment, watching the internal struggle in his eyes.

“I…” Héctor said, his grip unconsciously tightening even more, like he was approaching the edge of a steep drop. “I feel like I am going to be ripped apart when I have to take him back.”

Imelda’s heart broke a little in the same moment that his voice did.

“I hate it.” Héctor said quietly. “There’s nothing I can do, he has to go back, I can’t give him the life he deserves.”

“You have been a wonderful guardian Héctor.” Imelda said firmly, “You have been exactly what Miguel needed. He’s a completely different child now than when he arrived, you should be very proud of the job you’ve done with him.”

“Gracias.” Héctor said after a pause, like he was considering each of her words individually before responding.

“I mean it Héctor.” Imelda said, loosening his grip on her hands so she could lace her fingers through his. “You’ve reminded me why I fell in love with you in the first place. We still have a couple weeks left before Miguel goes back, and we’re going to take things one day at a time, we’ll be ready by New Year’s. You’re not alone on this one, whether you like it or not I’m here to help.”

Héctor didn’t say anything for a very long moment, but Imelda could see that now it was him who was trying not to cry.

He kissed her forehead and she was relieved to see that his smile was real again. “Te amo, Imelda. Gracias.”

Imelda saw him squinting nearsightedly at her and pulled his large rimmed glasses from his shirt pocket. She unfolded them, gently sliding them onto his face before lacing her fingers behind his neck and gazing up at him.

“We don’t have any mistletoe” she teased gently.

“Well, I guess I’m a bit of a rebel.” Héctor chuckled. He brushed a kiss on the tip of her nose before kissing her on the mouth, his hands on her hips.

A minute later they could both feel Héctor’s phone vibrate in his pocket. Héctor pulled away, eyes pleasantly unfocused despite his glasses. He fished out his phone and Imelda hooked her thumbs through his belt loops, leaning against him as he checked the phone’s screen.

“It’s Elena” he said, tapping the phone to put it on speaker. “Tia Elena! How are you?”

He slid the phone behind him onto the counter. Hands still free, he traced his fingertips in small circles on the back of Imelda’s hands, nuzzling his face against her temple.

“You should focus on the call.” Imelda whispered with a smile, starting to pull away.

“Héctor, are you free for a minute?” Elena’s voice asked from the counter behind him.

“Sure thing!” Héctor said to the phone, then turned back to whisper in Imelda’s ear, “I can multitask.”

“You’re ridiculous.” Imelda whispered back, but smiled.

She was remembering all the “professional chats” the two of them used to have in her office when they’d started seeing each other the first time.

Chats that had always begun professionally, but usually ended…somewhat less so.

“I just wanted to let you know we’ve figured out custody for Miguel,” Elena said, “we’re going to have you bring him back for good on Christmas Eve instead of the end of the year.”

Imelda wasn’t sure if the dying feeling inside her chest had come straight from the icy stillness that washed over Héctor, or if the two feelings were simply simultaneous.

“Héctor.” Imelda said, feeling like she’d just seen someone be shot.

He said nothing, but was now tightly holding her hands like they were a ledge over an abyss.

“We know that having Miguel has been difficult for you,” Elena continued, oblivious to the damage she was doing, “Berto and Carmen say that they’ll be able to take him on with their own kids. We’re already settling the paperwork and we think the sooner we can get Miguel settled in the better. Sorry this has taken so long.”

“Not at all.” Héctor said, his voice passably normal sounding, but his hands were trembling on Imelda’s. “You said next week?”

“Yes, there’s really not much sense in him leaving again after Christmas. I know you usually have music performance this time of year with Ernesto, would you be able to drive him down or would you like someone to come pick him up?”

“I’ll drive him.” Héctor said quickly, “I’m coming down too. He’ll be with me.”

“Alright, muchas gracias Héctor. I think we’ll all be relieved to get him settled in a real home. I’ll call if I think of anything else. Have a good day, alright mijo?”

“Sí, you too Tia.” Héctor said hollowly.

There was a small beep that signaled the call had ended, but neither Imelda or Héctor moved.

“Héctor,” Imelda looked up, but his eyes were focused past her, shell-shocked, his hands still desperately locked on hers. “Héctor, are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” He said, still holding terribly still.

“No you’re not.” Imelda said.

“I’m fine.” Héctor repeated, but it looked like something inside him was collapsing, bending him over.

“No you’re not.” Imelda said. She pulled him into a fierce hug and he buried his face in her hair without hesitation, holding her tighter than he ever had before.

“I’m fine.” He choked softly.

“No you’re not.” Imelda whispered harshly.

She wished there was something she could attack for Héctor’s sake, to defend him, anything to stop the pain she could feel flowing off him. This wasn’t fair, they were supposed to have weeks to prepare, not days.

All she could do in that moment was be there for him, holding him securely, protecting his quiet moment as she gave him someplace safe to fall apart.

Imelda could feel the same shock reverberating in her own bones, even if she knew how to hide it better.

Neither of them were going to be fine at all, and she knew it.

 


	10. Off-Track

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miguel FINALLY gets to see Hector and Ernesto perform, but...well, the day doesn't go quite as planned.

               “How do I look, Tío Héctor?”

               Héctor stretched his neck to peek over the box of equipment in his arms, looking over Miguel with an arched brow before he grinned. “Qué chido, chamaco! People are gonna think  _you’re_  the musician.”

               Miguel beamed as he followed Héctor down the stairs. His tío and Ernesto had a show tonight, and Héctor had said he could come with them! He’d never been to a concert before, and he  _had_ to make sure he looked extra cool—he’d even swapped out his favorite red hoodie for the leather jacket Héctor had gotten him for motorcycle rides. (It was a hand-me-down from one of his tío’s friends, but they’d put a ton of patches on it and it still looked  _super cool._ )

               “Do you think I could put stuff in my hair?” he asked as he bounced down the last few stairs.

               “Stuff?”

               “You know, the hair stuff! To make it look cool.”

               Héctor laughed as they made their way out to the parking lot. “You’ll have to ask your Tío Ernesto for that, chamaco. He’s the expert in  _hair stuff_.”

               A long sigh carried over from the other side of the gleaming white car they walked to, and Ernesto stood up straight to shoot Héctor a withering look over the roof.

               “I told you not to call me that,” he said flatly. Héctor shrugged as he set the box in the trunk.

               “You stop calling me Teto, I’ll stop calling you Tío Ernesto. Seems like a fair trade to me.”

               Ernesto rolled his eyes, giving Héctor’s shoulder a little shove as he looked in the trunk. “That’s everything?”

               “Sí.”

               “ _Including_  the pedalboard?”

               “Dios mio, you forget something  _one time_ …”

               “ _You_ might like boring strumming.  _I_ like putting on a show.”

               Héctor returned the shove. “ _Oye_ , my strumming’s anything but boring! Not my fault you have to use effects to match my skill level.” He gestured down to the trunk. “Pedalboard, guitars, auxiliary amps, amp cords; it’s all here, Nesto, I checked.”

               “Well, it’s worth a second check.” He shut the trunk and nodded for Héctor to follow him back to the apartment. “We’ve got time, and I  _know_  you. You forgot something.”

               Héctor looked down at Miguel and shook his head as he guided him back. “He has no faith in me, chamaco. It’s insulting.”

               “You  _do_ forget a lot of stuff, Tío Héctor.”

               “What? No, I don’t!”

               “You left your helmet in the music room on the last day of school.”

               “Well, clearly I was too excited for Las Posadas that night.”

               “And then you forgot your keys at Tía Imelda’s after the party.”

               Héctor stiffened slightly at the mention of the party, then shook his head and shoulders—he did that when he thought about something he didn’t want to, Miguel had found out—and put on a smile. “Well, that was Tía Imelda’s fault. She—"

               “She  _what?_ ”

               Héctor jumped as they rounded the corner and ran right into Imelda. Miguel looked between them, watching her cross her arms and Héctor immediately putting on an even wider smile.

               “I was telling Miguel here how much you loved my buñuelos, and that I was  _so surprised_ by the praise that I forgot my keys in your apartment.” His eyes flicked over to Miguel, then back to her.  She gave him a little grimace—not the angry one, the kind she used when she didn’t want to say something in front of him—but she quickly replaced it with a tight smile as she fixed her eyes hard on Héctor.

               “Well, since we’re sharing stories about Héctor forgetting things, I have a funny one.”

               “Diosa,  _please_ , I do—”

               “Once, he was so caught up in going to a performance that he  _completely forgot_ that it was a teacher in-service day.”

               Miguel glanced up at Héctor, who rolled his eyes. “Now you’re just exaggerating. I’ve never…” He trailed off as Imelda crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. “I… _ay_ , dios mio, it’s not  _today?_ ”

               “It is. It’s on the first Monday after break starts, just like last year. And the year before.”

               Miguel looked up at Héctor again, brow creasing as he watched the color drain from his tío’s face and jumping back as Héctor launched himself up the stairs. He quickly followed after as Imelda called, “I’ll get the car started.”

               “Does this mean the concert’s cancelled?” he called once they reached the apartment, to which he got a distressed noise in reply as Héctor struggled to shuck off his flannel shirt and nearly tripped over his own feet while doing so.  Miguel swallowed. As much as he didn’t want Tío Héctor to be in trouble with Tía Imelda, he also  _really_ wanted to go to the show. He started to ask again, but was interrupted as Ernesto pushed past him.

               “ _Dios mio,_  I wanted you to do a check, not…what are you even  _doing_?”

               Héctor froze, one arm half-way through his sleeve, then gave Ernesto a wide, embarrassed grin. “Uh… _slight_ change of plans for today. I, uh, I have work.”

               Ernesto blinked, then pressed a hand to his forehead as he let out a long breath. “You’re  _joking._ ”

               “I wouldn’t be putting this on if I were joking!”

               “You’re buttoning your shirt wrong, Tío Héctor.”

               “ _I’ll fix it later, chamaco._ ”

               Ernesto shook his head. “But school’s  _over._ That’s why we booked the show  _today_.”

               “Teacher In-service. Where’s my tie?”

               “ _To hell with your tie!_ ” Both Miguel and Héctor jumped as Ernesto snapped. He glanced between them, then took another long breath. “Héctor. We  _cannot afford_ to cancel the show.”

               “Then go by yourself!” Héctor called as he ran back to his room.

               “We already don’t have a big turn-out because it’s a Monday night, and the people who are coming  _don’t_ want to see  _half_ of our duo! Can’t you just say you’re sick or something?”

               “I am _dating my boss,_ Ernesto _._  She’ll  _know._ ”

               Ernesto muttered something under his breath; Miguel couldn’t  _quite_ make out what he said, but he was sure it was about Tía Imelda and that it wasn’t nice. Ernesto took one last deep breath, then looked up at Héctor as he slung a (pre-tied) tie over his head.

               “Héctor,  _please_. Just  _one_ day of hooky, is that too much to ask?” Before Héctor could answer, Ernesto gestured over to Miguel. “And what about Miguel? You’re really gonna deny him his  _first concert_?”

               Miguel glanced up at Ernesto, then back to his tío. Well…he  _did_ really want to see a concert, and it’d be  _really_ disappointing if it ended up being cancelled. He widened his eyes, just a tiny bit, and watched Héctor grimace and rub the back of his head before he sighed.

               “The concert doesn’t start ‘til five, right?” He shrugged. “I’ll head over right after we’re done, and I should make it in time.”

               “But the set-up…”

               “You toured by yourself the whole summer, you can manage the set up.” He straightened his tie, ignoring his crooked buttons. “So you take Miguelito with you and I’ll meet you both there.”

               “ _Grac_ —wait,  _what?_ ”

               “I can’t take him on the bike; it’s an hour drive.”

               “Héctor, I…I’ve never watched a kid before, you know that.” Miguel glanced up at Ernesto. He didn’t sound… _upset_ , but he did sound a  _lot_ like Abel whenever Abuelita told him to watch him and Rosa. He scrunched his nose as Héctor ruffled his hair.

               “Then it’s a good thing Miguel’s a good kid.” He grinned down at him. “You’ll be good for your Tío Ernesto, right?”

               “Sí!”

               “Then we’ve got it figured out!” At Ernesto’s dumbfounded look, he added, “It’s  _fine,_  Nesto. He’s got his emergency phone and imagination to go on for days. You just…” Héctor glanced over his shoulder as he heard a loud honk. “Look, I’ll meet you two there. It’ll work out, trust me.” When a second honk followed, he gave them both a quick wave and ran out the door.

               Ernesto and Miguel stood for a moment, staring at the now-empty doorway, before they glanced up at each other. Ernesto’s mouth gave a little twitch before he put on a smile; it was like the ones he used for his videos, but a little… _stressed-looking_.

               “Well, Héctor might be late, but we shouldn’t be. Let me make sure he didn’t forget anything  _else_ , and then we’ll be on our way.”

               Miguel nodded, trailing after him through the apartment. He considered asking about hair stuff, but the quick way Ernesto dropped the smile once he started turning made him think that it might  _not_ be the best time.  

               Well, Ernesto  _had_ said that he’d never watched a kid before. But Miguel knew he was a good kid, so they’d probably end up having a  _ton_ of fun.

               Probably.

~

               The ride was…long. And quiet.

               Well, they had music; Ernesto even offered to plug in Miguel’s iPod—though every song was met with either his approval or a face as he asked, “Did  _Héctor_ pick this one out?” usually followed by a mumbled apology whenever Miguel said that it was one his Papá had put on the playlist.

               Ernesto did try for some conversation about twenty minutes into the drive. “So…are you doing…is school good?”

               “Mm-hm.”

               “Good. That’s good. And…your lessons with Héctor, are those good, too?”

               “Sí.”

               “Bueno. Bueno.”

               And…that was about all he was able to manage. Miguel debated asking him about the performance and what songs he and Tío Héctor were planning to perform, but…there was something so uncomfortable in the car that he couldn’t get his voice to ask. Tío Héctor rarely stopped talking during car rides; maybe Ernesto liked quiet ones instead.

               That was fine.

…but it was  _boring._

               The drive was only an hour long, but it felt even longer than driving to Santa Cecilia. Miguel tried not to look bored, but it was  _so hard._ He debated asking if they could play a game—but again, something in the tense way Ernesto was sitting kept him from asking. So he just sat in silence.

               He let out a sigh of relief as they reached the town, and he was  _pretty_ sure he heard Ernesto give one as well. The car slowed as they got deeper into the town, with Ernesto keeping an eye open for the venue.  He shook his head at the few likely places Miguel pointed out, then turned down an empty street before finally let out an “Aha!” They pulled up to a boxy building with peeling paint and a large sign that read “El Paraíso” in faded letters. He stopped right in front of the building and gave a relieved smile. “Allá vamos, all we need to do is unload and set up now!”

               Miguel grinned brightly. “And then is it time for the performance?”

               “Well, then there’s the soundcheck and discussing payment and…”

               Ernesto kept talking, but Miguel was already out of the car and heading toward the trunk. He was still determined to be on his best behavior, and so what better way be a good kid than to help?  _Especially_ since Ernesto didn’t have Tío Héctor here to help with the set up. He grinned once the trunk popped open, then looked for something he could carry in. Most of it looked  _really_ heavy, but…ah! The pedalboard! He could  _definitely_ carry that.

               Before Ernesto was even out of the car, Miguel hoisted up the pedalboard and heads for the entrance. It was…a  _little_ heavier than he thought it’d be, and hard to look around, but Miguel was determined to get it inside. And, for a moment, he was pretty sure he could.

               Until he got to the curb.

               He thought it’d be a lot lower, only realizing once the toe of his shoe caught that he  _might_ have bitten off more than he could chew. Before he could react, he was sprawled on the sidewalk, crying out as his chin slammed painfully into one of the pedals.

               “ _Miguel!_ ”

               He blinked as he sat up, wincing as his chin stung. He grimaced up at Ernesto, blinking a few times. He  _was not_ going to cry. People didn’t cry when they went to concerts!

               “What ha—” The word turned into a strangled noise when Ernesto’s eyes locked onto the pedalboard. “ _What did y_ —” That  _also_ turned into an  _even more_ strangled noise as Ernesto finally looked at Miguel. “ _Dios mio_!”

               Miguel grimaced again, starting to rub at his chin, but stopping as his palm was suddenly warm and wet. He pulled his hand away and froze as he saw red.

                _He was bleeding._

               He wasn’t going to cry—even though his heart started pounding—he  _wasn’t_ going to  _cry_ —even though he could feel the panicked sob starting in his throat— _he was not going to_ —

               The one sniffle that escaped apparently snapped Ernesto out of his shock, and he quickly shut the trunk. Just as the tears started, Miguel felt himself hoisted up by the arm and, with Miguel in one hand and the pedalboard in the other, Ernesto hurried into the club as quickly as possible.

               Again, Miguel heard Ernesto mutter something under his breath. He couldn’t quite make it out, but it was definitely about Tío Héctor, and definitely  _worse_ than whatever he’d said about Tía Imelda.

~

               The club manager, luckily enough, had a first aid kit in his office, and Miguel was cleaned up and sat at a table with a cup of orange juice while Ernesto and the manager talked beside him. While the manager had been  _very_ nice to him, it didn’t sound like he was quite as nice with Ernesto.

               “I don’t know if you took a moment to look at our guidelines, but this  _is_ an eighteen-and-over club.”

               “I  _know_ that. Believe me, I did look! But he’s not  _my_ kid. He’s Héctor’s…my partner, I mean, and…”

               “Actually, Héctor’s my tío,” Miguel chirped. “So I’m not  _either_ of their kid.”

               Ernesto shot him a wide-eyed look, then rolled his eyes before looking back at the manager. “He was dead-set on bringing the kid to the show tonight, and…”

               “So you just randomly brought his nephew?”

               “Actually, we’re primos!” Miguel added, hoping to clear things up. He shrunk back slightly as Ernesto gave him another wide-eyed look before looking back to the manager wearily.

               “He’s his guardian, it’s  _fine._ And he’ll be here by the time the show starts.”

               The manager crossed his arms. “This is a club, señor, not a  _daycare._ ”

               Ernesto stared at the manager for a moment, then glanced at Miguel before taking a breath and putting on his best Cruz smile.

               “Look,” he said, lowering his voice, “it’s the boy’s first concert. And…well, between you and me, he’s come from a really rough place. Music’s the only thing that’s kept him going since his parents…” He stopped as Miguel laughed. The manager looked at him curiously.

               “What’s so funny, niño?”

               “Santa Cecilia isn’t rough! It’s just a normal town.”

               The manager raised his eyebrows at Miguel, then looked back at Ernesto. The Cruz smile suddenly became a lot sharper for a half-second, then Ernesto dropped it completely with a sigh. He mumbled something to the manager before pulling out his wallet and pulling out a few bills. The manager raised his eyebrows again, then nodded and took the money with a smile before getting up.

               “Well, Miguel, I hope you enjoy the show!” he said brightly, then looked back at Ernesto. “I’ll go get Chuy to help bring your stuff in.”

               Ernesto nodded with a sigh as he stuck his wallet back in his pocket. Miguel looked up at him, brows creased.

               “Why’d you give him money?”

               Ernesto shut his eyes for a moment, mouth twitching, then let out another long breath before he looked down at Miguel. “It was an extra fee I forgot about,” he said, then leaned down to meet Miguel’s eyes dead-on. “But don’t worry about that. I need you to do something  _very_ important for me, all right?”

               Miguel blinked, but nodded slowly.

               “I need you to stay  _right here_  until I tell you to move. Right in this seat.”

               Miguel frowned slightly. “I have to stay in this  _seat?_ ”

               “ _Sí._ Just…just until I tell you. Okay?”

               Miguel puffed out his cheeks. That sounded  _super_ boring, but…well, Tío Héctor was expecting him to be on his best behavior. And it wasn’t like Ernesto was asking a  _lot_ of him. He finally gave a little nod.

               “Okay.”

               Ernesto let out a relieved sigh, giving Miguel a little shoulder pat. “ _Bueno._ Gracias, Miguel. So like I said, stay right here.” He maintained eye contact with Miguel, as if silently asking one more time for him to stay put, then turned to go find the others.

               Miguel puffed out his cheeks again before finishing off his orange juice. Well, this  _definitely_ wasn’t what he’d expected with a concert. But he was going to do what he could to help out.

~

               This was  _boring._

He was  _sooooo booooored._

               Miguel wasn’t sure how long he’d been sitting in his designated spot, but it felt like  _hours._ Normally when he knew he was going to be waiting somewhere, he brought at least  _one_ toy or book, but he’d thought the concert would start right when they got there. He wasn’t expecting there to be so much  _talking_ and  _plugging_.

               At first, he was able to amuse himself by playing around with the cup his orange juice had come in, but that wore off pretty fast.

               He tried to make a song using the table like a drum, but he couldn’t really get a  _song_ out of it as much as getting something that was  _almost_ a beat.

               Eventually, he was desperate enough to pull out his emergency phone, despite Tía Imelda telling him it was  _only_ for when he needed to call one of them. But it wasn’t like he could do anything with it; it was one of those old-timey  _flip_  phones, which meant it didn’t have a  _single_ game on it. The most he could do was try to make a song out of the dialpad (which resulted in him accidentally calling someone.  _Whoops_.)

               Eventually, it got to the point where he  _needed_ to move or he would just  _scream_. He glanced at his now-scrunched juice cup, an idea hitting him. Sure, he wasn’t supposed to leave this spot, but his cup needed to be tossed out. That meant he had to go look for the trash can.        

               Miguel glanced up toward the stage, to see if Ernesto was watching him. Ah, no, he was busy  talking to one of the stage technicians up there. So, very quietly and slowly, Miguel slid off the seat. He winced at the scrape of the chair as he stood up and held his breath to see if Ernesto noticed. Nope, still talking to the technician. Miguel let out his breath, then crept away to go search for the trash can.

               The club wasn’t all that big, really, and there wasn’t a trash can he could find in the main area. But they had to throw trash  _somewhere._  He frowned, taking a quick glance up at the stage before looking around.  _Ah!_ There was a curtain over there in the corner! That must be where the trash was. He walked as quietly as he could toward the curtain, then slipped onto the other side.

               He crumpled his cup a little more as he looked around the little hallway, suddenly feeling like he should maybe go back to his table. But then he’d have to  _stay there_ , and that was definitely not an option. Plus, he’d probably get in trouble for leaving his spot without asking. So, still keeping as quiet as possible, he walked down the hall. There was what looked like a bathroom on his right, and a store-room on his left. No trashcan immediately available, but the bathroom  _should_ have one in there, right? He went to pull the handle, only to find the door stuck shut. Locked?  _Locked?_ Who  _locked_  the  _bathroom_?

               Miguel puffed out his cheeks. Well, there went that plan. He fiddled with his cup, then pushed down what was left of the little hallway. One more door (probably also locked), and then another door at the end of it. Well, might as well check on that last door. He walked up to it and, bracing himself for it to be locked, he pushed against it.

               It gave a little, but it was  _heavy._ Miguel frowned, then glanced behind him to make sure no one was around. Once he was sure it was clear, he took a breath and pushed against it as hard as he could. This time, it opened, and he sent himself stumbling out into a back alley with the force of his push. He blinked in surprise, then jumped out of the way as the door quickly swung back toward him.  

               He looked back as the door shut with a loud slam, then glanced around the alley curiously. He eyed the couple motorcycles parked back here, but none were Tío Héctor’s, so his attention wandered to some  _very_ interesting graffiti on the building next to them and a few crumpled posters of past acts that were peeling from the wall.

Well, this was interesting, at least, but definitely not where he wanted to be. There  _was_  a dumpster back here, though; he tossed ran over and tossed his cup in before heading back to the door. Hopefully he’d be able to sneak back in before Ernesto noticed and…

               Oh.

               Oh  _no._

               The door was  _locked._   

               But how could it be locked? He’d been able to open it from the inside! He tugged on the handle a few more times, then quickly began knocking on the door.

               “Perdón! I need to get back inside!” he called through the door. “I’m stuck, it locked me out! Perdón!!”

               No answer.

               Miguel swallowed hard, then redoubled his efforts, calling a bit louder and knocking on the door until his knuckles stung.

               Still, no answer.

               Miguel sucked in a breath, trying to keep calm even as his heart thudded in his chest. Okay. Okay okay. It wasn’t like he was  _lost._ Everyone was inside the club, he just had to find his way back in. He’d just…he’d go through the front door!

               He took a deep breath and stood up straight, trying to figure out how to get around to the front. All the buildings were crammed right up against each other, so he’d have to go to the edge of the alley and walk around. And the alley was…a lot more sinister, now that he’d have to walk through it.

               But! He wasn’t going to be scared! No one was out here, and he’d be able to see any cars that came through. So he stood up straight and stuck his hands in his pockets, trying to look as not-scared as possible as he walked down to the alley’s end. His shoulders were tense the entire way through, but luckily, nothing happened. He rounded the corner and let out a breath as he got out to the main street. He picked up his pace as he made his way back to the club entrance. He was  _absolutely_ going to get caught this time, but…well, it was better than being locked out and left in the cold. He was already practicing his best puppy-dog eyes to get out of any punishments as he reached the door.

               Wait.

               No.  _No!_ No no no no…

                _The front door didn’t even have a handle._

               Miguel stared at the door in disbelief. What kind of place  _was_  this?  _What sort of door didn’t have outside handles?_  He ran his hands along it, looking for a hidden latch or even some sort of  _invisible_ handle, but no luck. A whimper escaped him before he could stop it. What was he going to  _do?_ What if they forgot about him?

               He leaned against the door with a shaky breath, shoving his hands in his pockets. Oh! His phone! There, he’d just call Ernesto, and they could have a laugh about this. He’d been gone long enough where he’d probably be worried by now.

               He leaned against the door as he clicked on Ernesto’s name and waited. One ring. Two. Three.  _Four…_

               “Hola!”

               “Hola! It’s Miguel, I—”

               “You’ve reached Ernesto de la Cruz. I’m not able to answer the phone right now, but please leave a message! If you’re calling me back about a performance or other opportunities for Cruz y Rivera, be sure to leave your phone number and business name as well. Gracias!”

               Miguel swallowed as he heard the beep, but tried to keep his voice as steady as he left a message.

               “I-It’s Miguel. I, um…well, I got locked out? I’m waiting outside! So…I know you said not to leave my spot, but…could you please let me in? I  _swear_ I won’t move again! Um…bye.”

               He hung up the phone, then leaned against the door and swallowed. There. Ernesto would hear his message and come get him. Even if he yelled or told Tío Héctor to ground him, that’d be okay. He just wanted to be inside. But for now he just had to wait.

               It felt like  _forever_ , but when he pulled out his phone to check the time, it’d just been five minutes. So he waited. Another five minutes passed. A wind passed through the street, making him shiver; he zipped up his jacket and looked back at his phone.

               He hadn’t called all that long ago, but what if Ernesto hadn’t been able to hear it? He clicked on his name again.

               “Hola! You’ve reached Ernesto de la Cruz. I’m not able to answer the phone right now, but please leave a message! If you’re calling me back about a performance or other opportunities for Cruz y Rivera, be sure to leave your phone number and business name as well. Gracias!”

               Miguel swallowed as he heard the beep again. “Hola. It’s…it’s me again. Miguel. I’m still outside. Could you please come open the door?”

               He hung up again, huddling up against the door with a little whimper. He just wanted to go inside. He’d gladly take being grounded forever if it meant not being stuck out here.

               He tried calling Ernesto again.

               “Hola! You’ve reached Ernesto de la Cruz. I’m not able to answer the phone right now, but—”

               He hung up and tried again.

               “Hola! You’ve reached Ernesto de la Cruz. I’m not a—”

               He tried again.

               “Hola! You’ve reached Er—”

               He tried one more time.

               “Hola! Yo—”

               Miguel hung up again, grimacing as he held back a whine. Why wasn’t Ernesto answering? He hadn’t forgotten about him, right? He shook his head, swiping at his stinging eyes as he looked down at his phone again.

Should he call Tío Héctor? Was he done with work yet? Well, even if he was, he’d still be on the bike, and he was always  _super_ careful when he drove it. He wouldn’t check his phone.

               Miguel sniffled, the whine finally escaping him as he realized he was out of options. He was cold. It was getting dark. He didn’t even want to see the concert at this point, he just wanted to go  _home._

               He sat down against the side of the doorway, curling in on himself to try and warm up—and to keep any passerbys from seeing him cry. He didn’t  _want_ to cry, but he couldn’t stop himself anymore. The most he could do was hide his face and try to keep quiet. He was stuck, and no one was going to find him, and he’d be left alone forever and—

               “Is that chamaco?”

               “I…think it is?”

               Miguel sniffled and looked up as he heard two girls talking. He wiped his face; were they talking about  _him?_ Based on their gasp when he looked at them, they were.

               “Chamaco!”

               “We didn’t know  _you’d_ be at the show tonight! Is that why you’re here?”

               He sniffled again, and one of the girls—the one with short hair—crouched down before he could answer. “Oh, no. What’s wrong, chico?” she asked gently.

               Miguel paused for a moment, unsure of what to do. On one hand, he’d been told several times, by several family members, not to talk to strangers. But…these two were here for the show, so…that was safe, right?

               “I…I got locked out of the building,” he said, voice wavering. “I wandered off and I wasn’t supposed to and I tried calling but…” He grimaced as his eyes filled again, and he quickly wiped them with his sleeve.

               The short-haired girl looked up at her friend, who tugged her ponytail thoughtfully before she crouched down as well.

               “Está bien, está bien! Here, why don’t we wait with you for the doors to open, okay? I’m Izi, and this is Marisol.”

Miguel swallowed and rubbed at his eyes again. “I’m Miguel.”

               Marisol smiled as she sat down beside him. “Don’t you worry, Miguel, we’ll have lots of fun while we wait for the doors to open. Here, we can…take some photos!” She pulled out her phone. “Mira, I have some really fun filters. I think you’ll like ‘em, chico!”

               He sniffled once more and looked up as she held up her phone, immediately making a funny face—made even sillier by the cat ears and old-lady glasses that popped up on their faces. He gave a wobbly smile at that, and managed a full laugh when she flipped the camera and had a dancing hot dog show up in front of them.

               Eventually, Izi suggested they take a selfie (And no, she assured, she wasn’t going to post it without his tío’s permission; she knew the rules). Once she took it, he peeked over her arm to see the message she was typing out.

               “What are you doing?” he asked, looking up at her.

               “I’m sending your tío a message, to let him know you’re out here with us,” she said with a smile. “So he should see it soon enough!”

               “Mira, mira, Miguel! This one’s got music with it!”

               They were able to play around for a little while longer—Miguel was tear-free and laughing when Izi and Marisol tried to figure out how to get multiple people in the shot to use the filters.

               Then,  _finally_ , the door opened.

               “Miguel?”

               Miguel’s head shot up as he immediately knew that voice—even with the edge of panic in it—and he scrambled up to his feet.

               “ _Tío Héctor!_ ”

               He threw himself at Héctor the moment he was on his feet, only vaguely aware of a helmet dropping beside him before Héctor gave him the tightest hug—even putting Abuelita to shame.

               “Está bien, mijo, está bien. You’re fine,” he mumbled against Miguel’s hair, giving him another squeeze before letting out a shaky breath. “That won’t happen again, Miguel, I  _promise._ ”

               Miguel simply nodded in reply as he hung onto his tío, feeling his eyes well up again. He wasn’t scared this time, he was just…he’d never been  _so happy_  to see Tío Héctor. He buried his face into his shoulder and refused to let go just yet; it was just as well, though, because Tío Héctor wasn’t giving any signs of stopping the hug, either, still offering quiet assurances that he was safe and that Héctor was  _not_ leaving him  _ever again._

               Finally, Miguel shifted, and Héctor finally let go of him, giving his hair a quick ruffle before standing up straight. He looked up at the two girls, who’d been watching the scene with silent excitement (Marisol was still hitting Izi’s arm.), then gave a tired smile at the two of them.

               “Thank you  _so_ much for staying with him,” he said gratefully, keeping his hand on Miguel’s head. “I really can’t thank you enough.”

               “It’s fine!” Izi quickly assured. Marisol nodded.

               “We had a lot of fun with chamaco!” she added. “A-and if you want, we can stay with him during the show, too!”

               Héctor gave them another smile. “Gracias, that’s very sweet of you. I’ll check in with you two before we start.” He looked down at Miguel and squeezed his shoulders. “But first, let’s get you inside, chamaco, you look half-frozen,” he said.

Miguel gave the two girls a little wave as Héctor picked up his helmet, and they  _finally_ went inside. Once on the other side of the door, Héctor let out a long breath. He ruffled Miguel’s hair again, then leaned down and met his eyes.

               “Are you okay, Miguel?” he asked softly. “Were you out there for too long?”

Miguel shifted uncomfortably. His phone had said he’d been out there for a little over an hour, but…he didn’t really want Tío Héctor to freak out when he was  _already_  freaking out. “Not very long,” he lied.

“We can go home if you need to. Ernesto can do the show by himself.”

               Miguel pressed his lips together. On one hand, being back home after such a scary day sounded like the best thing in the  _world._  But…well, it seemed like a waste of a concert. And besides, those two girls were  _so_ excited to see Héctor; he didn’t want  _them_ disappointed. He shook his head.

               “I wanna stay,” he said.

               Héctor half-smiled. “All right, then we’ll stay.” He frowned slightly as he caught sight of the band-aid on Miguel’s chin. “What’s that?”

               Miguel grimaced. “I tripped.”

               “And that needed a band-aid?”

               “I, um, I tried to carry the pedalboard.”

               Héctor gave a little groan. “I am  _never_ letting you out of my eyesight a _gain._ Three hours I’m gone and…”

               “Oye! You found him! See, I told you he couldn’t have gotten far.”

               The moment they heard Ernesto’s voice, Héctor’s whole face shifted from concern to…anger? It had to be anger, but Miguel had  _never_ seen Tío Héctor this angry before. Héctor stood up straight, shoulders tense as he turned to glare at Ernesto, who looked just as surprised as Miguel.

               “I  _told_ you to  _watch him_ ,” he hissed. “And I find him  _out in the cold?_ ”

               Ernesto blinked. “I…I  _was_ watching him. I don’t know how he got out!” He took a step back as Héctor strode toward him, eyes blazing; for a second, Miguel thought he was going to punch him. He listened hard as Héctor spoke in a quick, quiet voice.

               “You’ve done a  _lot_ of bad things, Ernesto, but  _this?_ Ohhh, this  _definitely wins_.” He pulled himself up to his full height as Ernesto stayed frozen in place. “And you had better  _thank God_  that he’s okay, because if  _anything_ had happened to him on your watch, I.. _._ ” He stared hard at Ernesto, then let out a short breath before turning away. Ernesto blinked; clearly he was just as unused to seeing Héctor furious as Miguel was. He shook his head and followed after him.

               “Look…Héctor, if you’ll let me expl—”

               “I don’t want  _any_ of your excuses, Ernesto,” Héctor snapped. “I don’t want to hear a  _single thing_ from you! I just want to get this stupid show over with so we can  _go home!_ ”

               Ernesto faltered again, but Héctor sent him another blazing look before he could say anything. He huffed and made his way to the stage. “Can we do another check on the mics?” he called to the stage techs as Héctor went back to Miguel.

               “I’ve got to go up and get tuned up. You okay staying down here, chamaco?”

               Miguel nodded. It wasn’t like he was planning to run off again after all that.

               “Bueno, bueno. And you stay close to the stage, okay? The stage is low enough that I’ll be able to see you.” Héctor started to turn, then stopped and pulled Miguel into another tight hug. “Dios mio, I’m so glad you’re all right, Miguel,” he mumbled, then gave him one last hair ruffle before he turned and hopped up on the stage.

~

               The show was… _weird._ Héctor and Ernesto played well, but there was no hiding how tense they were the whole time. Even Izi and Marisol (who’d found Miguel once they’d come inside and stuck with him to make sure he didn’t get lost in the crowd) mentioned that they weren’t joking like they normally did in live concerts. Ernesto tried a few times to play off Héctor, but got next to nothing in response.

               It was kind of a relief when the show ended, both because it was  _clearly_ not one of their better shows and because Miguel just  _really_ wanted to go home after all this fuss. Héctor got him set up in a chair once they were finished, and he dozed as their fans clamored around to get a picture with Cruz y Rivera.

               He was vaguely aware of the club slowly emptying and of the stage techs helping cart their equipment out of the building. However, he didn’t wake up until he heard a loud, “ _What?!”_

               Miguel opened his eyes to see Héctor more or less shove his helmet at Ernesto. “ _You_  take the bike home tonight.”

               “And let  _you_  drive the car?”

               “I can’t take Miguel on the bike, now, can I?”

               “I can drive him ba—”

               “ _No_ , you  _cannot._ ”

               Once again, Ernesto seemed surprised by the anger Héctor met him with, and he looked down at the helmet.

               “It’s…this probably isn’t safe, it’s been a while since I’ve driven this and…”

               “Then you’d better be careful,” Héctor said coldly as he slung his guitar case over his shoulder. He held out his hand. Ernesto hesitated, then sighed and pulled out his keys.

               “Be careful with it, I just took it into the shop not too long ago,” he grumbled, setting the keys in Héctor’s hands a little sharper than necessary. They glared at each other for a long moment, then Ernesto turned with a huff and exited the club.

               Héctor sucked in a deep breath, then let it out slowly before he walked over to Miguel and gently ruffled his hair. “Let’s head home, chamaco. It’s been a rough day.”

               The drive home was quiet, the radio set to a low buzz that lulled Miguel to sleep so gently that he was completely started when woke up in his own bed. For a moment, he was completely disoriented. How had he gotten here? Weren’t they just in the car?

               He rubbed his eyes as he woke up. Had Tío Héctor carried him up? He had to have…but it was still dark outside. What had woken him up th–?

               “Did you  _have_ to slam the door?”

                _Oh._

               Miguel swallowed as he heard Ernesto snap back, “Oh,  _lo siento_ , I didn’t know I was coming in past curfew,  _Mamá._ ”

               As quietly as he could, he slipped out from his bed and crept to the door as the voices quieted into a buzz he couldn’t quite make out. He should know better than to sneak around after everything that’d happened today, but…well, he’d heard Tío Héctor and Ernesto whisper-fight enough times to know when it was happening. He opened his door slowly and peeked his head out, then padded his way to sit against the wall, just out of sight from the kitchen. He couldn’t  _see_ much, save for a glimpse of Tío Héctor as he paced around the little kitchen, but he could hear perfectly well.

               “So you’re  _mad_ ,” Ernesto finally drawled.

               “Like  _hell_  I’m mad! This? This was  _completely_ unacceptable.”

               “Ooh, now you’re bringing out the  _profe_  voice.”

               “ _Cállate!_ ”

               Miguel automatically jumped as Héctor practically snarled the word out. Ernesto must have been caught off-guard, too, given the way he fell silent. Héctor’s pacing got quicker, and Ernesto puffed as he regained his bearings.

               “You know, it’s thanks to  _me_ you’ll still have a music career when this is stupid… _thing_ of yours over.  
               “ _Ohhh_ , qué generoso! You’re  _really_ looking out for me by  _losing my kid._ ”

               “See, this?  _This is what I’m talking about Héctor._ Miguel is  _not your kid._  But you’ve been too busy  _playing house_ to think about what’s going to happen when Miguel  _goes home._ ”

               Héctor continued pacing, but when he didn’t answer, Ernesto continued, “While you’ve been playing your stupid little game,  _I’m_ the one who’s making sure we don’t throw away  _everything_ we’ve worked for since were  _kids._ Years of work shouldn’t be tossed by the wayside because of a few  _months_ of babysitting.”

               “It’s not babysitting! I’m—”

               “You’re  _what_ , Héctor? You’re Miguel’s new papá?”

               “No, that’s not it. I…”

               “You’re right. That’s  _not_ it. Because on Friday, he’s going back  _home._ And home  _isn’t here._ ”

               It felt as if Miguel’s heart froze in his chest. He was…going home early? But…but he was supposed to stay until New Year, right? Was it supposed to be a surprise? His throat tightened, and he pressed his lips together tightly as he turned his attention back to the fight.

               Héctor was silent, and the pacing had stopped. There was a slight shifting sound, then Ernesto gave a long sigh.

               “It’s for the best.” He sounded bored as he said this, like he’d said it a million times before. “For him  _and_ for us.”

               “I know.”

               “He’ll be much happier in Santa Cec-“

               “ _I know._ ”

               Ernesto huffed out another breath. “So then he’s not your problem for much longer. He’ll be getting back home in one piece, and you shouldn’t be acting so… _irrationally_ over one mistake.” When Héctor didn’t reply, he sharply added, “I can’t reason with you when you’re like this. I’m going to bed.”

               Miguel just barely scrambled back toward his room as Ernesto stomped out from the kitchen, but if Ernesto saw him, he didn’t acknowledge him. Miguel started to open his door, but his throat was still tight. Maybe Ernesto was making stuff up. Maybe he…maybe he got the dates mixed up. He swallowed hard, then slowly walked back to the kitchen.

               Tío Héctor was standing still at the counter, gripping the edge of it as if he were about to fall over. Was he…okay? Miguel opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He swallowed and tried again.

               “Tío Héctor?”

               Héctor stood up straight, turning to look at Miguel with wide eyes.

               “Ay, chamaco, did we wake you up?” he asked, walking over to him. “I’m sorry, we just…”

               “Am I really going home on Nochebuena?” he asked quietly.

               Héctor blinked, eyes flicking over Miguel’s face before he covered his eyes. “Ay,  _dios_ , I forgot,” he mumbled. He swallowed. “Miguel, I…”

               “It’s…is it for good?” Miguel interrupted, voice a squeak as he tried to force air out. “Or is it like Día de los Muertos? Because I…I…”

               “Hey, hey, it’s okay. It’s okay, Miguel.” Héctor immediately dropped down to one knee to meet Miguel’s eyes as he set his hands on his shoulders. “I’m sorry, I should’ve told you earlier.” He took a breath, then gave Miguel a gentle smile that somehow just made the tight feeling in his chest worse. “But Tía Elena called a few days ago, and everything’s set for you to go back to Santa Cecilia.” The smile broadened, but it…it didn’t look right. “You’re going  _home_ , Miguel.”

               Miguel knew he should be happy. He’d get to go back to Abuelita and his friend and his room, everything he’d missed. That should be good. He should be  _happy_.

               So why did it feel like he was going to cry?

               Héctor’s eyes flicked over him again, and the smile faded. Before he could say anything, Miguel threw himself against his tío, hugging him tightly. He didn’t know why that was his response, but he just…he  _had_ to.

               Héctor immediately folded his arms around him, returning the hug tightly. After a moment, he mumbled, “I’m sorry. I should have told you sooner. Definitely not tonight.” He fell silent for a moment, then pat Miguel’s back. “You should be getting to bed, Mig—”

               “I don’t want to sleep.” Even though they were muffled against Héctor’s shoulder, Miguel knew the words sounded bratty and he braced himself to be gently reprimanded for it as Héctor sighed.

               “Well, then, I think we can still catch tonight’s monster movie. Go grab your blanket.”

               Miguel looked up at Héctor, then quickly did as he asked. Soon enough, they were huddled together on the sofa, Miguel cuddled up the tightest he’d been to Tío Héctor as this night’s black and white creature feature flickered on the screen. It was a little babyish, he knew, to hang on to him like this. Especially when he’d gotten such good news.

               But…he might not be able to do this again after Nochebuena. So he latched onto everything—the sag of the old sofa, the way the sound didn’t quite sync up with the movie, Héctor’s quiet jokes about the leading man and the monster, and the warmth that came from just spending time with his tío.

               He knew he was only going to be here for a short time, but even so…it wasn’t something he  _ever_ wanted to forget.


	11. Going Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hector and Miguel head back to Santa Cecilia for Noche Buena.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For this chapter, I also recommend reading the side fic [Two Cokes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13763796) first if you haven’t yet. There’s more than a few references to it in the chapter below.

                It was weirdly poetic in a way, heading back to Santa Cecilia. Héctor driving Chich’s rattling old camioneta, Miguel curled up in the passenger’s seat, the radio crackling between them. It was the perfect bookends for their time together.

                Or, it would be, if they weren’t so weighted down with having to say goodbye.

                The past few days had been rough. While Héctor knew he’d _technically_ done the right thing telling Miguel the truth (even if it was late), it’d made the past few days _extraordinarily_ hard. Miguel had stuck by his side every second he could, asking for impromptu guitar lessons or falling asleep beside him on the sofa or even just hovering around as Héctor puttered around the apartment. And, really, he couldn’t blame the kid. Miguel was young, but he knew what was happening. Even with promises to visit Santa Cecilia and plenty of phone calls in-between those visits, it wouldn’t be the same. He’d just be a tío that Miguel saw sometimes.

                And that was even assuming Héctor could keep those promises. His track record in that respect wasn’t exactly _great._

                He gave himself a shake, returning his focus to the present. He wasn’t going to worry about that, not now. They had all of Christmas before the separation got real.

                “So what are you _most_ excited for when you get home, chamaco?” he asked, keeping his voice light. He glanced over to Miguel, who gave a little shrug in reply, and pressed his lips together. “Well, you know, when I was in school, I always wound up missing the way the shop smells. You know, all the leather and polish and all that. Pretty weird, huh?”

                Miguel gave a noncommittal noise in reply, eyes firmly fixed out the window. Héctor pressed his lips together, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. All right. So this was… _not great._ If he hadn’t spent the past few months with the kid, he’d think there wasn’t a bit of difference between the Miguel he’d driven back to Capula that first day and the Miguel he was bringing back home.

                But this was _good._ Miguel would be taken care of, and in the end, he’d be _happy._ It’s not like five months of progress could be undone by _one_ Christmas, right?

                Right.

                He glanced at Miguel again, then opted out of talking for the moment. Instead, he turned the radio up a little bit. The crackling was annoying, but it was better than silence.

                For the first time since getting in the car, Miguel shifted. Once again, he easily adjusted the knobs until the song was discernable through the static. Héctor smiled.

                “You’ll have to teach me that trick before I head back.” He glanced up at Miguel, who had already curled up again in the seat. He let out a soft breath, then adjusted his grip on the wheel and did his best to keep his face as neutral as possible.

                This was good. He was being responsible.

                Even if taking Miguel back home felt an awful lot like abandoning him.

~

                It was a shame that the holiday was ruined, because Santa Cecilia was _beautiful_ during the holiday season. Even during the day, red, green, and white papel picado fluttered in the breeze, and flores de Noche Buena seemed to be bursting out of every windowsill and doorway. Every other year Héctor had come home, he’d been practically dancing with excitement when night came, willing to sit through the _longest_ church service to see the town lit up with candles, Christmas lights, and _fireworks._

                Héctor tried his best to talk up the celebrations once they got into town. Up until a few days ago, Miguel had talked _nonstop_ about the fireworks, the fact he’d get to do the last Posadas with his friends back home, Abuelita’s tamales (even though she always gave him too many), _everything_ that had to do with Noche Buena. But now he simply stayed quiet, silently watching the town roll past.

                It was almost enough to get Héctor to turn the car around and go home, honestly.

                _But_ that wouldn’t be good for anyone. So, soon enough, they were parked in front of the house. Héctor pointed out that Tía Elena had managed to get the garland on the boot like she did every year; Miguel didn’t reply. He let out a long sigh as he switched off the car.

                “All right. We should talk before we go in.”

                Miguel finally lowered his hood and looked up at Héctor. “Talk about what?”

Héctor waved his hand. “About…all of _this._ ” He looked up at the roof of the car. “Look. I know this…it’s _hard._ It’s hard for me, too.” He let out a long breath as he let his head fall back against the seat. “But it’s really not fair to you, getting upended just as you start getting comfortable somewhere. I get it, Miguel, I _really, really_ do. But…”

_But it’s for the best._

_But I can’t take care of you the way you need._

_But it’s still going to hurt and there’s nothing I can do to save you from that and that_ kills _me._

                He looked down at Miguel, whose wide-eyed stare clearly meant he was waiting for what came next. He swallowed, then leaned over to ruffle Miguel’s hair.

                “But it’s going to be just fine. I promise.” He half-smiled, though it faltered when Miguel didn’t return it. “We should probably head in. If we don’t get out soon, Tía Elena might just come out and pull us out of the car herself.”

                Miguel let out a sigh, but nodded and got out of the car. Héctor swallowed as he stepped out.

                “I’ll get your suitcase for you. Why don’t you head inside?” He caught Miguel shake his head sharply as he followed him to the back of the van. “Well, then, you’re stuck with bringing in this.”  He pulled out Miguel’s bag, then reached far in the back to grab a little package. “ _Ay,_ this thing _flew_ back here. Good thing I double-wrapped it. It wouldn’t be as funny if it was broken in half.” Again, he put on a smile; nothing from Miguel. He swallowed as he grabbed the bag, ruffling Miguel’s hair again and leaving his hand on his head as they headed up to the door.

                Elena, of course, was all joy the moment she opened the door. Plenty of hugs and kisses for _Miguelititito_ , and even Héctor got dragged down for an iron-strength hug and a flurry of kisses to his cheek. Not even the threat of la chancla this time, even with missing half of Noche Buena.

                “It _finally_ feels like the whole family’s back,” she said, giving him a warm smile. The smile faded, however, and she pulled back to set her hands on her hips. “But I know you still brought it. Might as well show me now.”

                Héctor half-smiled. “You know, you act all annoyed, Tía, but I still see my gifts on display every year.” He nodded down at Miguel. “Miguelito’s got it. Go on, chamaco, give it to Tía Elena.”

                Miguel’s brow furrowed. “What is it?”

                Héctor glanced up at Elena. “Would you mind if he opened it? I think he’ll like it as much as you will.”

                “Well, come _inside_ first. I’m not having you freeze to death tonight of all nights.”

                “I don’t think that’s possible here, Tía.”

                Elena shushed him as she herded them in, then looked up as a loud crash and an “ _Abel!´_ from Berto rang down the hall. She sighed.

                “Ay, Dios mio, _that boy._ Why they’ve decided to have another one is beyond me.”

                “ _What?_ ”

                “Tía Carmen’s having _a baby?_ ”

Elena looked up at the two, who stared back with dropped jaws, then shook her head with a _tsk._ “If you _visited more_ or stayed on the phone for _more than five minutes,_ you would have known.” As Héctor opened his mouth to argue, another crash came down the hall. Elena rolled her eyes, then pat his cheek before pressing a few more kisses to Miguel’s head. “You open up the gift, Miguelito. I’ll come back to see it in a minute.” She squared her shoulders in her best Abuelita stance, then made her way down the hallway to see what had happened.

Miguel glanced up at Héctor, eyebrows raised. “How did _you_ not know?”

“You heard the woman, I never visit _or_ call.” Héctor nodded down at the little package in Miguel’s hands. “She also told you to open that, so I think you really should open it.”

Miguel half-smiled, then looked down as he started tearing through the wrapping. His brow furrowed as he started unwinding the bubble wrap, then, for the first time that day, he let out a laugh as he pulled out a little wooden figure. “It’s a mariachi!” He held it up for Héctor to see. “And he’s a skeleton!”

                “Well, sure. I always thought the Virgin could do with a little music. Having a baby’s stressful.” He glanced down the hall. “…as your Tía Carmen’s about to remember in a few months.” He glanced down to see if Miguel got his joke, only to get a stunned face in return. “What?”

                “ _You’re_ the one who keeps sending the little figures for our nacimiento?”

                “Por supuesto. Who else would?”

Miguel squinted down at figurine, thumb running over the tiny guitar. “But why’s this one a skeleton?”

                “Because I had to find the one that looked closest to me, _just_ in case I couldn’t make it this year.” He smiled as he looked down at the skeleton. “So now everyone’s stuck with _two_ bony músicos.”

                Miguel smiled up at Héctor. “We should go put it by the manger!”

                Héctor returned the smile, relaxing a little as Miguel’s normal exuberance finally broke through. There. He could still be happy, even if Héctor was leaving. He gave his hair another ruffle. “How about _you_ find a spot for him, okay? I’ve got to call your Tía Imelda; she seems convinced we’d end up dead in a ditch somewhere with me driving, can you believe that, chamaco?” He gave Miguel a little nudge. “I’ll drop off your suitcase at your room, too.”

                Miguel’s expression faltered at that, but he nodded and ran off.  Héctor watched him go, rubbing the back of his head. This was good. He couldn’t even stay morose a whole twenty-four hours. He was probably subconsciously ready to be home anyway.

                That was good.

                Héctor gave himself another shake, then picked up Miguel’s suitcase and headed for his room. It was one of the newer ones, he remembered, and there were plenty of luchador posters and legos inside. It took a few tries, but he finally found it, setting the suitcase inside with a very final-sounding _thud._

                He took a breath, looking around the room. Definitely a better place for a kid to sleep than a re-purposed recording room. He’d like being back in his own bed; god knew Héctor would in his situation. He let out the breath slowly, giving his shoulder and head another shake to prepare himself to go out and talk to the family as if things were fine. Because they _were_ fine. Completely fine. Absolutely totally…

                _Bzzt! Bzzt!_

                He jumped as his phone started ringing, catching him off-guard. Ah, probably Imelda. She’d want to know they’d made it one piece. He pulled out his phone with a smile, which abruptly died as he saw the name. He _should_ hang up, but…

                Well. He wasn’t that petty.

                He answered the phone with a flat, “What do you want, Ernesto?”

                For a moment, there was silence on the other side. Might be an accidental call; Ernesto had jetted off to god-knew-where the day after their disaster of a concert, after all.  He was probably out at some house par—

                “Uh, hola, Héctor.”

                Héctor’s brow furrowed as Ernesto sounded…meek? Well, as meek as possible for Ernesto de la Cruz. He stuck his free hand in his pocket, confusion taking over the initial irritation as he asked, “You all right?”

                He heard Ernesto take a deep breath. “I just…I wanted to say…sorry.”

                “Perdón, could you say that again?” Maybe he was a _little_ petty.

                “Te— _Héctor,_ I’m being serious. I’m sorry for…look, I’d have to be a complete idiot to not know how close you are with Miguel, and I shouldn’t have been so…mean about it? But after the whole disaster with the concert and…”

                “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” Héctor pressed his lips together. “But thanks for that.”

                He heard Ernesto let out a relieved sigh on the other end of the line. “You get to Santa Cecilia all right?”

                “Mm-hm.”

                “Is it still tiny and the worst place on earth?”

                “You’d have to visit to see.”

                “ _Pass._ ”

                A short silence stretched between them, just awkward enough for Héctor to start thinking of how to end the call. Just as he was about to say that Tía Elena needed him to help with buñuelos, Ernesto quietly asked, “How are you handling leaving Miguel there?”

                _Oh._ He hadn’t expected him to ask about that. The bluntness of the question seemed to suck the air right out of his lungs. He tried his best not to gasp in a breath before saying, “I’m…I’m fine. It’s good. This was the plan, anyway. I’m fine.”

                “ _Mentira._ ”

                “I’m serious! I’m…”

                “You’re upset about it. You’ve been upset about it since you got the call.” Ernesto sighed. “Can I be honest?”

                “No.”

                “Too bad, I’m going to be anyway. I really don’t think you should be alone right now.”

                “Nesto…”

                “I’m serious.”

                “I’m not _alone._ I’m with my family.”

                “And when you excuse yourself and hide out in a room for hours with your guitar? Or when you head back to the apartment and don’t move for two days?”

                Héctor squirmed uncomfortably, not able to argue. That was the problem with being friends with someone so long; Ernesto knew him way too well.

                “Listen. Why don’t we go somewhere? You’ve got a few weeks before school starts again, sí? We’ll bring our guitars and do a whole route up to Guadalajara or somewhere and…”

                “Ernesto, performing is the _last_ thing I want to do.”

                “Then we won’t perform. Not a single concert. It’ll just be a roadtrip. Remember our last one? If we end up playing, it’ll just be for us. You could head out tomorrow, be back in Capula in no time, we’ll pack what we need and we’ll just _go._ Suena bien?”

                Héctor shut his eyes and let out a breath.  What Ernesto was suggesting sounded an awful lot like running away, and he’d done enough of that in his life. He should say no.

                “You really mean no performing?” he mumbled.

                “If I even start to suggest it, you can take a page from your girlfriend’s book and hit me with your shoe.”

                Despite himself, Héctor smiled and shook his head. He puffed out a breath.

                “I have to be back by Día de Reyes, okay? I don’t want Miguel thinking I…I forgot about him, you know?”

                “You’ll be back with plenty of time, don’t worry.”

                Héctor pressed his lips together hard as he swallowed. “I’ll head out tomorrow, then. After breakfast probably, so I’ll be back in the afternoon.”

                “Perfecto. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” After a pause, Ernesto added, “You’ll be fine, Héctor. It’ll be just like old times, and you’ll feel better about the whole thing once you’ve got some space to clear your head.”

                Héctor nodded. “Thanks, Nesto. See you tomorrow.” He hung up, then let his head fall back with a long sigh. This wasn’t running away. It was getting his head on straight. Ernesto had been right, after all; today had been weighing on Héctor for a week now. Some time away from everything would…

                “Tío Héctor!”

                Héctor whirled around as Miguel popped his head into the room.

                “We’re about to leave for the last Posadas! Abuelita wanted to make sure you didn’t get left behind!”

                Héctor looked at Miguel for a moment, feeling a little sick at the thought of leaving earlier than planned. But…it was what he needed. Staying too long would just make things worse. He put on a smile and walked over to ruffle Miguel’s hair.

                “And here I thought I’d be able to get out of Mass,” he said with a laugh, keeping his hand on Miguel’s head as he guided them out. “Finding me means _you’re_ in charge of keeping me awake during the service, you know.”

                “Otherwise you’ll snore.”

                “Me? Snore? I _never_ snore.”

                “You’re not supposed to lie on Jesus’ birthday, Tío Héctor.”

                “Well, _I’ve_ never heard myself snore. So obviously I don’t.”

                Miguel laughed, pulling away from Héctor to run down the hall. “Abuelita!! Tío Héctor’s _lying_!”

                “ _Oye_ , you’re disrespecting her favorite sobrino, you know!”

                It was nice, forgetting for a moment that this was ending in a few hours. Dealing with that was tomorrow’s problem. Tonight…well, tonight was Noche Buena. And family was all that mattered.

~

                The celebrations, of course, continued well into the night. Miguel had his moments of quiet—this was, after all, his first Christmas season without his parents—but he’d loosened up enough to detach himself from Héctor’s side at various times through the night—most notably during the fireworks and during dinner. But, as the celebrations came to a close, he ultimately ended up fast asleep against his side. Héctor had debated just staying there all night; it wasn’t like he hadn’t slept this way before over the past few months. But…well, Miguel ought to get used to his own bed again. So he quietly excused himself and, after getting Miguel _just_ awake enough to climb up on his back, carried him back to his room.

                Very carefully, Héctor set Miguel on the bed. He was a little more practiced now in the art of tucking kids in now, and he was able to get kid, sheets, and blankets (including his orange fleecy one) all in order without even waking Miguel. He half-smiled as Miguel curled up, comfortable as anything, and he gave him one very, very gentle hair ruffle.

                “Feliz navidad, Miguel,” he murmured, then stood up straight and started to turn. He paused and glanced over his shoulder as he heard Miguel shift and give a sleepy sigh.

                “Feliz navidad, Papá,” he mumbled, the words just barely coherent.

Héctor froze.

                That wasn’t…Miguel was still asleep, and his parents’ death was still fresh. And how often had people assumed that he and Quique were brothers rather than cousins? Really, Héctor should be more surprised that a “papá” hadn’t slipped out sooner.

                Instead, he was _much_ more surprised at the _ache_ that went right through his chest at the word.

                No. He’d made his choice. He was leaving tomorrow. This was good for everyone involved. He swallowed down the choked feeling in his throat and quickly turned to exit the room. He was tired. He’d head straight to bed. Then in the morning he’d deal with the disappointment in Miguel’s eyes as he let him down and prepare him for what would no doubt be a string of disappointments throughout Miguel’s life as he…

                “Oye, Héctor. I want to talk.”

                Once again, Héctor froze. He looked over his shoulder, catching Berto quietly shutting a door in a way remarkably similar to the way he’d closed Miguel’s door. Must be his daughter’s room. Héctor swallowed and leaned against the wall with a weary sigh.

                  “Sorry, Berto, but I’m _beat._ Between the day and the driving and everything, I…” Héctor trailed off as Berto shook his head.

                “It’ll just be a minute, tramposito,” he said, then crossed his arms. “You know, when Mamá insisted you _actually_ take care of Miguel, Gloria and I _panicked._ You couldn’t even be bothered to come visit us; how would you take care of a kid? _Especially_ an energetic one like Miguel. There was no way we thought you could do it.”

                Héctor’s stomach curled in on itself. “I-I…” Berto held up his hand, cutting him off.

                “And I want to apologize for that.”

                Héctor blinked. “Uh…what?” _Two_ apologies from the two men least likely to apologize in all of México? In the _same night?_ He must have heard wrong. And yet, Berto was still looking apologetic.

                “We were wrong. Really wrong, actually. Miguel’s doing so much better than we thought he would.” He gave his primo a smile. “Guess Quique was on to something making you godfather. You really stepped up to the plate for Miguelito.”

                Héctor rubbed the back of his head with a shrug. “I needed to. Stuff like this, it’s not easy on a kid.”

                “Mm. Guess you’d know that best out of all of us.” The moment Héctor looked up at him, Berto shook his head. “Sorry, sorry. I know, don’t bring that up.”

                He half-smiled. “Well, you’re not _wrong._ ” He shrugged as he stuck his hands in his pockets. _“_ I probably have the most experience out of all of us with weird family situations.”

                A pause fell between them—unusual for Berto, so Héctor really shouldn’t have been surprised when he broke it by clapping a heavy hand on Héctor’s shoulder, almost knocking him over.

                “Bien, you’ve done really well, Héctor,” he said with a grin, then lowered his voice as he kept a hand on Héctor’s shoulder. “And…I think Enrique’d be really proud of everything you’ve done for his boy.”

                Héctor felt his throat tighten, and he swallowed hard as he rubbed his eyes. He should thank Berto. For the apology, for thinking Quique’d be proud of him. But instead, what tumbled out of his mouth was, “I’m leaving tomorrow morning. Me and Ernesto, we’re gonna…he suggested we go on a road trip and I agreed and…” He trailed off as Berto squeezed his shoulder. Would he call him out on not staying? Tell him that he’d let Miguel down by leaving so soon? _Anything_?

                “Well, I think you’ve earned it.”

Héctor looked up at Berto with wide eyes. “You…you don’t think it’s too soon? Tía Elena always says…”

                “Listen, _I’ll_ deal with Mamá if she gets…you know, like she does. This is already the most we’ve seen you in years, so she can’t complain _that_ much. Besides, all you’ll be missing are the last few custody talks before we start filing.”

Héctor looked up, eyes wide. “You…haven’t started yet?” Berto shook his head. “Well, when _are_ you starting?"

“Day after tomorrow, probably. Or…well, tomorrow now, given what time it is. But don’t worry about it; Carmen and I have it all under control.” He gave Héctor a knowing smile. “Besides, we know you never stay in one place for too long. You’ve probably been itching to travel since you got Miguel.” Berto gave Héctor’s shoulder one last pat before pulling away. “Go have fun with your friend. Just be back by Día de los Reyes, claro? If you miss that, you’re on your own with dealing with Mamá.”

                Héctor gave a weak smile and a nod, giving Berto a quiet “Feliz navidad” before he headed to the guest room. Well, then. He had Berto’s blessing to go, of all people.  He could go with a clear conscience.

                So why did he wish he’d been told “no”?

~

                Héctor had hoped he wouldn’t be able to sleep, thus making him too tired to make the trip back home the next morning, but he was _out_ the moment his head hit the pillow. He probably would have slept well into the afternoon if it weren’t for the eight-year-old shaking his shoulder.

                “Tío Héctor!”

                “ _Mmph.”_

“Tío Héctor, _wake up._ ”

                Héctor stubbornly rolled over and pulled his pillow over his head, nearly blocking out the little huff from his godson before he was shaken again.

                “Abuelita’s gonna be mad that your atole got cold.”

                Finally, Héctor peeked out from under the pillow. “Atole?”

                “Sí.”

                “With the little bit of nutmeg she always adds for Navidad?”

                “Uh, sí?”

                Héctor covered his face with the pillow again, groaning. “My _weakness._ ” He pulled the pillow off his face as Miguel tugged at his arm.

                “Then get up! I still have a bunch of stuff I wanna show you and I don’t have much time before you leave!”

                Héctor blinked, and he pulled his arm away to sit up. “You heard?”

                Miguel pressed his lips together tightly, then nodded. “Tío Berto was talking about it with Abuelita.”

                Héctor stared at Miguel. _Ay_ , that was _not_ the way he wanted Miguel to hear about that. He swallowed. “Were they mad?”

                “No. Abuelita’s more mad that you slept for so long.”

                “And you? Are you okay with it?”

                “Well, yeah. You probably have like a billion concerts to catch up on.” His brow furrowed slightly, but he shook his head and grabbed Héctor’s arm again, tugging him until he stood up. “But first you need to see all of my luchador cards! I was collecting them _forever._ ”

                Héctor pressed his lips together hard. That…was deflecting; he had enough experience doing it himself to know it when he saw it. Had Miguel learned that from him? At _eight?_ That seemed like the kind of thing that should _probably_ be talked about.

                But…after breakfast. And after seeing Miguel’s luchador cards.

~

                “This is the last one, I promise. But Sin Cara is my _favorite_ , so I had to save him for last.”

                Héctor took the card and looked over it appraisingly. “He does look pretty cool. I’ll give you that, chamaco.”

                “He’s the _coolest!_ I found one video where he just _flipped_ right over the side and…”

                As Miguel chattered about the match he’d watched, Héctor’s eyes drifted to the clock. He’d initially planned to leave an hour ago, but…well, there was no _set_ time frame, and Tía Elena had _insisted_ he have something _besides_ atole for breakfast, especially if he was going to do all that driving. And after that, it wasn’t like he could cut off Miguel as he talked about his favorite luchadores. But…well, he’d have to get a move on if he wanted to get back and packed before he and Ernesto headed out.

                “Do you have to go now?”

                Héctor snapped out of his thoughts, looking down at Miguel. “Uh…not just yet, but soon. There’s still a little bit of time.”

                Miguel looked at Héctor for a moment, then started collecting up his cards. “You don’t have to hang around for me,” he said, voice surprisingly light. “Rosa said my friend Javi’s been bothering her everyday about where I am, so I’m gonna go see him in a little bit. That’s what I usually do on Navidad anyway. You know he has an _Xbox_? I mean, it’s his brother’s, but he lets us play with it.”

                Héctor blinked, a weird feeling of…hurt?...flashing through his chest as Miguel brushed off his leaving so easily. But he put on a smile, resting his chin on his hand.

                “En serio? Well, tell him to go easy on you. You might be a little rusty.”

                “ _Pff,_ that won’t happen.” Miguel carefully set the cards back in the little shoebox he kept them in. “But anyway. You don’t have to stick around for me.” His brow furrowed a bit as he shut the lid, then he took a breath. “I’m fine.”

                _Ah._ Miguel _wasn’t_ brushing off him leaving. Héctor let his head fall back, puffing his cheeks out as he sighed.

 

 

                “You know, Miguelito, you are _way_ too young to say you’re fine when you’re not.” Héctor lifted his head to look at Miguel, brows creased. “You can tell me what you’re really feeling. You don’t need to pretend to be okay if you’re not.”

                “I’m not pretending,” Miguel argued. When Héctor raised an eyebrow, he scowled down at the box on his lap. “I’m _not._ I mean, Abuelita’s _really_ happy I’m home. A-and I really missed my friends. And my room, and even the shop! I’m glad I’m home. I missed it. I just…” Miguel grimaced, swiping the heel of his palm against his eye. “I’m gonna miss you.”

                Héctor’s throat tightened, and he automatically reached over to ruffle Miguel’s hair. “I know. I’ll miss you, too, chamaco.” He kept his hand on Miguel’s head, tilting it up so he could give him a smile. “But I’ll be back for visits, every weekend I can. And, and I’ll talk to everyone and see if you can spend the summer with me.” He pulled his hand back, doing his best to keep his smile up. “So it’s not like it’s goodbye forever. You know, you’ll probably get sick of how much you see me.”

                Miguel looked up at him, giving a little sniffle and not matching Héctor’s smile. He rubbed his eyes again, and, very quietly, he mumbled, “It’s not gonna be the same.”

                Héctor’s smile died, and his shoulders sank. He swallowed as he looked down at his hands. “No. It’s not.” He pressed his lips together, then once again set his hand on Miguel’s head. “But we’ll find a new normal, okay? Just like we did in August. I bet I can even find a way for us to grito on the roof on Día de Reyes, just so long as you don’t tell Tía Elena.” That got a wobbly smile out of Miguel. “You’ll be just fine, Miguel. I _promise._ And if you ever, _ever_ need me, you just call, all right? Any time of the day.”

                “Except when you’re in class. Tía Imelda wouldn’t like that.”

                “Tía Imelda would understand.” Héctor gave him another smile, then glanced up at the clock. He really should get going. He let out a breath, then got to his feet. Miguel automatically hopped up with him. “I…it’s time for me to head out, chamaco.” He pressed his lips together, then knelt down to meet Miguel’s eyes. “I’ll be back in no time, all right, Miguel? You’re going to be _fine._ Things will be good here.”

                Miguel nodded. He frowned for a moment, then threw himself at Héctor, wrapping his arms tightly around his neck. Héctor returned the hug just as tightly, shutting his eyes and willing himself to keep it together.

                “Estas bien, estas bien,” he murmured, giving Miguel a squeeze. “Things are going to be good, I promise.”

                Miguel nodded against his shoulder, but he gave no sign of letting go. Héctor waited a few minutes, then gave Miguel one last squeeze before carefully pulling away. He smiled and ruffled Miguel’s hair before he stood up. “I expect a call tonight, okay? Tell me all about how you beat your friend Gabi--”

                “Javi.”

                “—Javi despite not touching a controller for _months_.”

                Miguel smiled. “Okay, Tío Héctor.” He hesitated, then ran forward to give Héctor one last squeeze around his middle. “Thanks for being the best tío.” This time, he let go without any prompting, giving Héctor a little smile before heading out. Héctor followed him out, walking slowly down the hallway. He ran his hand through his hair.

                He’d done it. He’d taken care of a kid. He should be proud of himself.

                And now, it was time to go back to his old life.

~

                …which, he realized twenty minutes into his drive home, wasn’t sitting right with him.

                It didn’t make sense. He _should_ be good. He and Miguel had an excellent parting conversation. Tía Elena had made sure to threaten him into coming back for Día de Reyes (which he was, of course, planning to do anyway), and he could go back to a life of teaching, music, and romancing Imelda with no worries of caring for a kid on his own.

                He shook his head, switching the radio on to drown out his thoughts. Ah, but it was all static, and this time he didn’t have Miguel to fix it. He switched it off, instead humming a half-composed song he’d been working on the week before. He could work on that now. He didn’t have to worry about Miguel adapting badly. He was a surprisingly mature kid when it came to letting go.

                _Too_ mature. Too ready to accept people leaving. Accepting that, no matter how much you love someone, they’ll just leave. Was that really maturity, or was that just _resignation_? Kids shouldn’t have to _resign_ themselves to anything; Héctor knew that first-hand.

                He shook his head, letting out a breath as he adjusted his hands on the steering wheel. He focused on the long stretch of highway ahead, strangely aware of the empty seat beside him in his peripheral. No. This was _fine._ It wasn’t like he was dropping Miguel off with _strangers._ This was his family—arguably closer family than Héctor was. They’d all been with Miguel when he was born. And Berto and Carmen were _excellent_ parents…even if Miguel told stories about Abel rough-housing a little too much and Rosa being a tattletale. But that was just _kid stuff._ Berto and Gloria had been the same with him while they were all growing up. Granted, he’d had Quique to stick up for him…but Miguel was in a completely different situation! He was a happy, confident kid, _way_ different than Héctor had been at his age.

That’s it, he was projecting too much. No matter how close their situations were, Miguel _wasn’t_ him. He probably wouldn’t have that lingering feeling of never quite belonging with his primos. He’d get plenty of love and attention…even with a baby being added into the mix. He…probably wouldn’t feel shut out. Sure, having a family focused primarily on his needs would be best, especially a family that understood how much Miguel loved music. Especially a family that understood what it was like to be raised by tíos and tías…

                But what was _Héctor_ going to do about it? He wasn’t a…a _father._ He wasn’t even _really_ a tío, just some primo with a reputation for leaving. And it was a well-earned one; just look at what he was doing now. Running away because…why? Because he wasn’t adopting Miguel? _Please_. Why was he so worked up? It wasn’t like _he_ was capable of taking care of a _child._

                Héctor’s eyes widened, and he lifted his foot off the gas pedal.

                _He_ wasn’t capable of taking care of a child?

                Then _what the hell had he been doing for the past five months?_

                Before he could even think it through, he twisted the steering wheel hard to the side, tires screeching as he pulled a quick, tight turn to get into the opposite lane. Once he was fully turned, he slammed his foot onto the gas, speeding back down the empty highway toward Santa Cecilia.

                For once, for _once_ in his life, he wasn’t going to leave.

                Or, at least, he wouldn’t be leaving without Miguel.

~

                The trip back to Santa Cecilia took half the time it had to drive away, and Héctor nearly faceplanted out of the car from how quickly he tried to scramble out of it. He didn’t even bother to knock; he barely remembered to shut the door behind him as he ran into the house. Most of the family was gathered in the living room, and all eyes immediately turned to him.

                “Héctor?”

                “What are you doing back? Are you all right?”

                Héctor shook his head. “Where’s Miguel?”

                Carmen pushed herself up, waving off Berto as he tried to help her up. “He’s over at his friend’s house.” Her brow creased. “Why? Is something wrong with him?”

                Héctor blinked several times. He was aware, on some level, that he should take a minute and think about what he wanted to say. He didn’t.

                “I want custody.”

                _Silence._

                For a long moment, Héctor was simply met with stares and dropped jaws. Berto was the one to finally rub his head.

                “ _Héctor_. You can’t just come back here and announce that _you_ want custody.”

                “I just did.”

                “You haven’t been here for any of the talks!”

                “No, because I’ve been busy _taking care of Miguel!_ ”

                “But you have _no idea_ what—”

                “ _Berto._ ”

                Berto immediately went quiet as Elena spoke. She looked up at Héctor with hard eyes, then huffed through her nose as she sharply slapped the lotería cards she was holding back onto the table.

                “Héctor, shop. Now.”

                “Tía, I—”

                “ _Vete,_ mijo.”

                 Héctor drew his shoulders in, but he meekly nodded and headed to the shop. He could _feel_ her presence behind him, and doubts about his decision rose with every step. While rationally he knew she wouldn’t punish him for saying he wanted custody, this still felt _awfully_ like all the times he’d been walked to the shop for a sharp talking to after getting in trouble.

                Once they were in the shop, Elena shut her eyes and took a deep breath.

                “Tía _,_ I…”

                “ _Sit._ ”

                He automatically dropped onto one of the stools, watching silently as she paced the length of the shop in silence. As she came back toward him, she looked up to the ceiling.

                “What do you think you’re _doing_ , mijo?”

                Héctor swallowed, then leaned forward. “I want to be Miguel’s guardian. I know you haven’t filed anything yet and I—”

                “This isn’t a _game_ , Héctor. This is a little boy’s _life._ ”

                “I…I _know_ that. I was the one taking care of him!”

                “I know, I know. And you did a _wonderful_ job with him. But… _raising_ a child is different than taking care of him for a few months. He needs stability and care and…”

                “I can give him that! I’m willing to do whatever I can to give him that,” Héctor argued.

                “Oh? The constant touring around, that’s stable?”

                “I’ll stop doing concerts! I’ll stop with the songwriting career altogether if I have to.” He shrugged. “I don’t make much, but I-I could always pick up a few music students and save for a bigger place and…and I’ll have Imelda there to help me, too. She _adores_ Miguel, and…”

                “And she’s your _girlfriend._ What happens if you break up again?”

                Héctor wanted to argue that things were different this time, but…well. It wasn’t like they were engaged or anything. He set his jaw as he met Elena’s gaze. “Then I’ll do whatever I can to take care of him myself.” His brows drew together as he leaned toward her. “Tía, I was in the exact same position as Miguel, you _know_ that. If anyone can help him with…with having a non-conventional family, it’s me. I can do this. And I saw what you went through with custody and I—”

                “ _No_ , Héctor. You _didn’t._ ” A hard edge crept into Elena’s voice, but her jaw trembled as she looked at him. “You didn’t see all the paperwork I had to do that reduced you to…to some _nameless entity._ You didn’t see all the interviews I had to do, questioning what kind of _mother_ I was. You didn’t see all the legal… _mess_ your tío and I had to go through just to make you part of our family.” She blinked a few times as she took a breath. “I didn’t _want_ you to see that, and I _never_ want you to go through that.”

                “Well, somebody has to, and I don’t see why it _can’t_ be me!”

                “Because you’re so _young_ , mijo. Berto and Carmen have already had two children, they know what to do.”

                “And when Miguel gets pushed aside when the baby comes? He’s not going to be like Rosa! After what happened with his parents, he needs _attention_ and _patience._ Tía, I’ve taught kids like Miguel and…”

                “That’s not the _same_ , Héctor. You’re not in charge of _raising_ those children.”

                “Then I’ll figure it out! Every parent needs to start somewhere, right? I can _do_ it, Tía! I _know_ I can be the parent that Miguel needs!”

                “And if you can’t? Then what? Do you drop him on my porch and expect me to raise him?” Her eyes widened at the bitter words that came out of her mouth, and Héctor automatically drew back. He swallowed, then looked down at his hands with a wry smile before looking up at her.

                “Oh. Okay, I get it.”

                “Héctor, I…”

                “You’re worried I’m gonna end up like my mother.”

                Elena pressed her lips together, staying silent. Héctor kept eye contact with her until she finally shook her head.

                “It’s…I don’t mean to compare you to her. But…leaving like you do, the letters you sent instead of actually _being_ with your family, your whole music thing…it’s all…”

                “The same things she would do.”

                “Héctor, I…you’re not…” Elena trailed off as Héctor shook his head.

                “No, no. I’d…I’d be worried, too.” He pressed his lips together, looking down at his hands again for a long moment. “But…but I’m _not_ like her. Not anymore, at least. I…I have a steady job and a home and…and I’m willing to do _whatever_ it takes to take care of Miguel. If I spend the rest of my life as a music teacher because it lets him have a comfortable, stable life, that’s fine. If I never leave Capula because that’s where his best life’s gonna be, that’s fine, too. I’m willing to put aside what I want for him.” He half-smiled as he looked up at Elena. “I think I get that from you.”

                Elena blinked a few times, eyes shining before she covered them and shook her head. “It’s going to be _hard_ , Héctor.”

                “I know.”

                “Not just the adoption process. You’re going to be a _parent._ Not a tío, not a godfather. A _parent._ And he’ll always know that you aren’t his real father.” She lowered her hand to give him a flat look. “And he may throw that in your face to hurt you.”

                Héctor squirmed a bit, but he didn’t break eye contact with her. “I know.”

                Elena took a long breath, and Héctor swore he heard her murmur a prayer as she looked up to the ceiling again. After a moment, she lowered her gaze to rest on him. He sat up straight, meeting her eyes as confidently as he could.

                “I’m _trusting_ you, Héctor,” she said.

                Héctor sat up straighter.

                “And if you end up hurting Miguel…”

                Her voice broke, and Héctor quickly said, “I would never, _ever_ forgive myself,” before he got to his feet and threw himself at Elena, hugging his tía as tight as possible. She hugged him back for a moment, then swatted his shoulder.

                “You bring him back to visit,” she said, voice as hard as she could manage as she wiped her eyes. “ _Regularly._ I miss having my angelito querido cielito in the house.”

                “Of course, tía. And you have every right to use la chancla on me if I forget,” Héctor said with a breathy laugh, leaning down to gratefully kiss the top of Elena’s head. “I’ll take the best care of him, I _swear._ ” He smiled as he stepped back. “After all, I had the best tía in all of México to learn from.”

                Elena smiled as she wiped her eyes. “Please tell me you don’t mean Victoria.”

                “Much as I love Tía Victoria, she wasn’t really a stellar example of parenting. Though making me chainsmoke did keep me from smoking for the rest of my life.”

                “She made you _what?_ ”

                Héctor blinked, then put on a wide smile as he stepped back toward the door, opening up and talking fast as he headed down the doorway. “You know we really ought to go tell everyone about this decision and definitely not talk any more about Tía Victoria’s method of pa— _chamaco!”_

                “Tío Héctor?”

                Héctor nearly toppled over Miguel as he ran into the hallway, guitar in hand. Miguel frowned curiously.

                “Why are you back? Is something wrong?”

                Héctor couldn’t hold back the bright grin that spread across his face. “No, no. It’s good. _Great_ , actually, lo mejor! Miguel, I’m…”

                He trailed off as Miguel watched him with bright, curious eyes. His own smile faltered slightly. Now that he thought about it…was this the best idea?

                “You’re staying longer?” Miguel asked, a hopeful smile spreading across his face.

                “I…I…” Miguel had friends here. He had the rest of his family. He was _happy._ If Héctor pulled him away from all of that, it’d…only be serving his own wants, not Miguel’s. And he _had_ just spent the past half hour talking about how determined he was to put Miguel’s wants and needs before his own. He sucked in a breath, then set his hand on Miguel’s head. “Actually, I came back because I needed to ask you something. You got some time?”

                “Not too long. I told Javi I’d show him the music book you got me.”

                “That’s fine. I’ll ask you while you grab it.” He glanced back at Elena, who gave him a warm smile and a nod, then followed Miguel back to his room.

                “Why was Abuelita crying?” Miguel whispered once they were out of earshot.

                “She was remembering the last time I tried to make shoes.” Oof, that was deflecting. He’d have to stop that. “I’m kidding. We were…we had kind of an emotional talk. It’s part of what I want to ask you.”

                Miguel’s shoulders stiffened slightly as he opened the door to his room. “Is it bad?”

                “No! No, no. It’s not bad at all, chamaco. It’s…” Héctor rubbed the back of his head. “Um…here, why don’t you sit for a minute?”

                Miguel frowned at Héctor, but he did what he asked, hopping up on the bed and watching Héctor with serious brown eyes. Héctor met his gaze for a moment, then took a long, slow breath. He quietly braced himself.

                “So…like I said, I had a talk with Tía Elena. And it’s…well, I got her blessing to…I…” He set his hands on his hips, pressing his lips together hard as he tried to figure out what to ask, then knelt down to meet Miguel eye-to-eye. “If you want, you can come live with me. Forever.”

                Miguel sucked in a breath, straightening up as he stared wide-eyed at Héctor. Héctor swallowed.

                “But…that does mean staying with me back in Capula. So…you know, you won’t live in Santa Cecilia anymore.” He swallowed as Miguel didn’t move. “I mean, we’ll still come to visit, and you could spend weekends or holidays here if you want. But…but if you don’t want to leave, that’s fine. I’ll still come to visit as much as I promised I did before. Tío Berto and Tía Carmen will be _amazing_ parents, and the whole family will give you more love than you can probably stand.” He looked up at Miguel. “So…it’s up to you.”

                Miguel stayed silent. Héctor tried to ignore the way his heart was hammering.

                “It’s…it’s kind of a hard question, isn’t it? But I can stay a few days while you think it over and— _Aiie!_ ” Héctor yelped as Miguel launched himself at him, nearly falling back into the dresser as Miguel hugged him tightly.

                “ _Sí! Sísísísísí!_ I wanna go back with you!!” he crowed, grinning from ear to ear as he practically hung off Héctor’s neck. Héctor blinked, then let out a loud laugh.

                “Bueno, bueno!” he said, giving Miguel an equally wide grin. “So then we’ll start getting everything figured out, and then it’s back _home._ ” He gave Miguel a tight hug. “And I’m _never_ leaving you. Never again, okay?”

                “Sí!”

                “Not even when you’re a teenager and you think your Tío Héctor’s embarrassing!”

                “All right! Fine!”

                “Not even when you’re an old man!”

                “All _right,_ Tío Héctor!” Miguel laughed, finally letting go. His brow furrowed, and he looked at Héctor with a suddenly serious face. “Can we still stay for a few days, though? I still have to say hi to everyone.”

                “Por supuesto. There’s lots of boring talk I’ll have to do now, so we have _plenty_ of time to enjoy Santa Cecilia.” He half-smiled. “Besides, I have a shoe design I want to run past your Abuelita. That alone’ll probably take us to next week.” He waved his hand at Miguel. “Anyway, vete, vete. You need to show off to your friend Raki—”

                “ _Javi!_ ”

                “—Javi, right? Here.” He picked up Miguel’s guitar and held it out to him with a wide grin. “Show him that that the best músicos live in Capula, okay?”

                Miguel matched Héctor’s grin, then gave him one last tight hug before taking the guitar, grabbing his book, and running out the door. Héctor watched him go, leaning against the dresser and letting out a sigh.

                Between the paperwork and figuring out their living situation on top of work, he was looking at a good few headaches. The next few weeks would be rough. So would the next few months and years…but that was parenthood, wasn’t it? And if it meant that Miguel had the chance to be properly cared for and _thrive…_

                Well, that was worth all the struggle in the world, wasn’t it?

                 

                 

               

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all once again for your amazing support, your amazing comments, and your INCREDIBLE PATIENCE. It really does mean the world to us that you guys still love this fic six months in, and that you’ve stuck with us even with our forays into other stories and AUs.
> 
> Wit has the next chapter, so keep an eye open for that coming up, and we’ll see you guys around!
> 
> (What, you didn’t think it’d be that easy, did you?)


	12. Together

“Tía Imeldaaa!”

Imelda nearly fell over as a small excited blur slammed into her. Miguel hugging her waist tightly as Héctor held open the door of his family’s house with a grin.

“Hola Miguel!” She laughed, hugging him back as she got her balance again. “Don’t knock me over!”

“Tio Héctor’s adopting me! I get to go home!” Miguel cried, letting go of her and jumping up and down excitedly, “I get to go back to school and the apartment and-”

“Hey Chamaco, go tell Mamá Elena that Tia Imelda is here, okay?” Héctor said, smiling as he ruffled Miguel’s hair, “let’s let Imelda catch her breath, she’s just had a long drive.”

“Okay, but I want to show her my luchador cards next!” Miguel said, ducking back into the house past Héctor at what must have been roughly the speed of light.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him that excited.” Imelda said, chuckling as she stepped into the house, setting her extra bag on the floor as Héctor closed the door behind her.

“Thank you for coming.” Héctor said, pulling her into a hug, his voice sounding tired but happy, “I know this has been really sudden, but I just, it just kind of happened, and now I’ve got to get all his records together before we head back to Capula, and I’ve got to stay for the  _whole_  holiday now of course so Miguel can have a good time, and I’ve got to-”

Imelda pulled back from the hug just enough to kiss him, feeling him relax a little as she did.

“Of course I came, you’re doing something absolutely crazy, I can’t miss that.” she said, brushing his very unbrushed-looking bangs out of his face, “What changed?”

“I think...” Héctor said, arms still around her waist, “I think I just realized I couldn’t leave him behind. I mean, I’ve already taken care of him this long, and done a fairly decent job, right?”

“This is going to be a  _lot_  of work to get official adoption.” Imelda said, meeting his gaze, “But, I think if anyone adopts him it should be you, I’ll help however I can.”

“Muchas gracias,” Héctor said softly, kissing her again, more gently this time, “I couldn’t have done any of this without your help. I’m glad you’re here.”

Imelda had a whole written checklist of things in her purse she needed to be sure got done while she was here, a whole host of questions she needed to ask Héctor about this crazy change of plans.

But for the moment she was content to just kiss him back, letting the stress of her long drive slip away at his gentle attention after days of not seeing each other.

“Imelda.”

They both jolted apart, looking over at the stern abuela looking up at them with crossed arms.

“Tía Elena!” Héctor said, looking a little sheepish, “You’ve met Imelda before.”

Imelda pulled on a professional smile, trying to push away the feeling of being a teenager caught kissing behind the school.

“Señora Rivera.” Imelda said, “I hope you’re having a pleasant holiday. Héctor called to tell me that he’s staying a few more days to start the adoption process with Miguel and I’m here to help him get things started.”

“Sí, I know.” Elena said, arms still folded, “We’re about to have dinner, come help me in the kitchen.”

“I...of course.” Imelda said, glancing at Héctor, who shrugged and picked up her bag. Elena wasn’t exactly being cold, more like...unimpressed.

“I’ll take your things to the guest room and then join you in the kitchen. I just have to move my stuff to the couch.” Héctor said, quickly kissing her cheek.

“You didn’t tell me I would be putting you on the couch.” Imelda frowned.

“It’s where I sleep most of the time anyway.” Héctor said cheerily, walking down the hall with her bag.

“And when you’re finished go help Berto pull in the new leather.” Elena called after him, then waved for Imelda to follow her through to the kitchen. “That boy is completely devoted to you, you know that, sí?

“I, ah, sí, Héctor is always very sweet to me.” Imelda said, unsure what exactly how to respond to the flat sterness in Elena’s voice as they entered the kitchen, “What would you like me to do to help with dinner?”

But looking around the kitchen it looked like the food was already all prepared. Elena turned and leaned back against the counter, arms folded tightly as she looked Imelda over.

“What I would like you to do is tell me exactly what you’re planning to do with my sobrino.” she said, her voice getting a sharp edge to it.

“I, what?” Imelda floundered, completely off balance. Normally she would have no problem defending herself, but this was so unexpected...and Héctor’s  _tia_.

“When you two were dating earlier this year, when you left him, you completely shattered him.” Elena said, “He was an absolute wreck for months, I’ve never heard him so bad when he called me, crying as he tried to blame himself for everything under the sun, tearing himself apart because he was convinced that he’d done something wrong. But I think you and I both know that it was  _your_  fault, wasn’t it?”

“We...we are two adults who decided that our relationship, as it was progressing, wasn’t working for us at the time.” Imelda said, her mind reeling at her own lie.

She could remember all too well his puppy-like adoration no matter what unreasonable expectations she put on him, her stiff fear every time she felt they might be discovered. The day he’d let it sip in his class by accident, the way she’d pounced on the opportunity to cut him off, terrified by how much she liked him, eager to wall herself off before she became too vulnerable.

“I mean,” she pressed her thumb against her eyebrow, taking a deep breath as she consciously walked back her defensiveness, “there were a lot of things that were un-ideal about our relationship the first time around. Having a break gave us both time to think things over, things are different now, we’re both more prepared this time.”

“I raised Héctor,” Elena said sternly, “which means that I know his weaknesses all too well. If you’re so well adjusted this time around, I suppose you can tell me what his greatest weakness is?”

“I, uh...” Imelda scrambled to think.

“It’s going back to people who have hurt him.” Elena said, her expression devastatingly accusing.

Imelda was speechless, but also sensed this would be the exact wrong time to speak anyway.

“That boy has been starved for attention his entire life,” Elena continued, “he wants so desperately to be loved that he will put up with exactly the idiot treatment that you were giving him earlier this year, and hang around just hoping for more while people like you take advantage of him. He’s a smart boy, but he’s stupidly loyal. He’s so used to being kicked when he’s down that he’ll never kick back. But you already know this, don’t you?”

Imelda swallowed uncomfortably.

“I...”

“So you shook him off once,” Elena continued, “and now you’ve taken him back. I hope you don’t think that’s any kind of accomplishment on your part.”

“I...”

“And I don’t care to hear whatever your justification for hurting him might be, I don’t care.” Elena said sharply, “What I do want to know is if you’re going to  _work_  this time.”

Imelda was silent as Elena looked away, rubbing her face.

“Normally I would let things run their course,” Elena sighed, sounding more tired than angry now, “Héctor’s been through this kind of thing before, but something’s changed since Miguel has gone to stay with him. He’s outdone all our expectations in caring for Miguel, he’s grown so much, and now he’s asked for  _custody_  instead of running away. He’s a good boy, but I’ve never seen this kind of determination in him before, which is why I’m giving him a chance at all. I want to believe in him, I  _want_  him to succeed with Miguel, and if Héctor can keep this up I really think he will.

“But from what Héctor’s told me, I think a big reason he’s held up this well is because of  _you_. I know how much help you’ve given him and Miguel, and I’m forever grateful for it,” Elena looked up, the sharp edge coming back into her voice, “but I need to know  _right now_  whether you plan on staying this time, because if you get scared and leave again, it’s not just Héctor that you’ll be breaking, and I will  _not_  allow you to hurt two of my boys.”

Only a year ago this kind of ultimatum would have terrified Imelda.

It would have sent her rethinking what it was she was doing, how she wasn’t prepared for that kind of commitment. It would have made her realize that this wasn’t her battle to fight, that it would be better if she took this opportunity to bow out before she got hurt, or hurt anyone else.

But that was Imelda a year ago. And the Imelda of now was only left a little surprised as she realized that there was not an ounce of hesitation in her mind.

“I’m not leaving.” she said. And the words rang true inside her, nearly taking her breath away with how deeply she meant them. “Never again. They need me. And I need them.”

Imelda stood strong as Elena watched her, maybe for signs of weakness or wavering, the long moment of silence stretching between them both.

“Good.” Elena said, tipping her chin up, having apparently found whatever she was looking for, her edge softening into normal seriousness, “Because this is going to be hard work for you both, you’re going to have to stick together from here on out if the three of you are going to make it.”

“Sí, I know,” Imelda nodded, pulling her purse open and taking out a thick file of papers, “I’ve been researching custody laws since Héctor called me last night. There’s going to have to be things to file here and in Capula, the social worker visits, we’re going to have to fix a few things about their apartment, I’ve got my secretary assembling a school report on Miguel already, I’ve made a list of the different expenses we’re going to have to remember, and deadlines that will be in the future we’re going to have to keep in mind once this starts and we also need to-”

“We?” Elena asked.

Imelda looked up from the sheaf of papers and notes she was flipping through, blinking. “What?” It might be her imagination, but for the first time there seemed to be a bit of a smile on Elena’s face.

“Nothing.” Elena said, waving a hand, “I’m...glad you’re taking this seriously.” she sighed, “I’m just remembering what a struggle it was to get custody of Héctor, I’m glad that he’ll have your help with Miguel.”

Imelda felt a small flame of warmth inside her at the nearly praise, but bit her lip as she flipped the file closed, daring herself to ask the question that had been lingering in the back of her mind for ages now.

“What exactly happened? With Héctor’s parents I mean.” she asked, watching closely for signs of her needing to backpedal, “He’s mentioned his mother a few times, but avoids it if I ask him.”

“Ay yi yi, mijo,” Elena sighed, picking up a dishcloth from the counter and refolding it, “he hasn’t told you about Mari?”

“All I know is that you raised him.” Imelda said, watching as Elena began to absently wring the dishcloth.

“His mamá, my sister, Mariana.” Elena said, looking tired, “She was always the wild one growing up, her head was always filled with crazy fantasies, wanting to run off and find fame and fortune instead of staying with her family. She slept with enough men that even she’s not sure who Héctor’s real father is, and when she had a son it only took a few years for her to get bored and drop him off at my doorstep. 

“She visited him a few times after that, and Héctor always latched onto her whenever she paid him the least amount of attention. That’s where he learned to love people that hurt him you know, Mari never cut him off completely, always leaving him some hope that they would live together someday again. That she would actually mother him someday.”

“She...what?” Imelda shook her head, trying to imagine what kind of woman would just abandon her child like that, even to relatives. “Did she hate him that much?”

“Oh no, she doesn’t hate him,” Elena said wearily, “that’s what makes it so bad, she loves him, but she loves herself more. She never sees how she hurts those around her, she always thinks she’s doing what’s best when she runs off.”

“Loves? As in present tense? She’s still alive?” Imelda said, heat and disbelief rising in her voice.

The few times she’d heard Héctor mention her mother it had always been in the distant loving way you would talk about someone who had died. But there was a woman out there that had done such merciless and cruel emotional damage to Héctor that he  _still_  didn’t realize how badly he’d been hurt.

The way he’d always given in to every ridiculous demand she’d made the first time they were dating, the way he’d waited so patiently for her during their break even when she’d left him without a scrap of hope. Even the way he was always so anxious about abandoning Miguel, of never letting Miguel think he wasn’t completely loved and cared for all the time.

It all made a sudden kind of awful sense that made Imelda absolutely sick.

That’s what she’d been messing with when she’d been so awful to him their first time around. She’d seen that he would do anything for her and she’d pushed him around however she liked. Elena was right, she’d absolutely taken advantage of his devotion and endless patience, making him bear the brunt of her own indecisiveness. And she’d barely given him anything in return until she’d finally gotten her head on straight.

“He doesn’t treat Miguel like that you know.” Imelda said, pained anger rising in her voice as she wiped away what was not a tear from her left eye. Anger at Héctor’s mother, anger at herself. “He’s always doing whatever he can to get Miguel what he needs, he’s always sacrificing what he wants for others, he’s constantly talking about how he can help Miguel better in school or at home or with whatever else he can.”

“And  _that’s_  why I’m letting him try to get custody.” Elena said, nodding firmly, “I think this has been good for him and for Miguel. If you’re willing to work this time and help them both, then I’m ready to give my blessing. It’s not going to be easy, but if you can prove yourself then I think it’ll work out.”

“I will, I promise.” Imelda said, standing up straight. “I won’t let any of you down.”

Elena smiled, a real, warm smile. “Gracias.” She tossed the dishrag back onto the counter and turned to busy herself over the food, “That’s enough talk, it’s time to eat! We’ll all talk about custody after dinner, go find Héctor and fetch him in for food.”

“I can still help you-”

“Eh eh eh,” Elena waved a hand at her, “my kitchen, my rules, go.”

“Thank you, Elena.” Imelda said, smiling as she turned to go.

“And don’t you “Elena” me,” Elena called, “that’s  _Tia_  Elena to you.”

 

***

 

Héctor set Imelda’s last bag from her car beside the guest room’s bed. Moving his own things to the couch hadn’t taken very long and now he just had to go find Berto to help bring in the new shipment of leather.

He felt like he was forgetting something, but whatever it was kept eluding him.

He sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed for just a moment, pulling a small notebook out of his back pocket and flipping it open. He always had paper on him to scribble out music or lesson plan ideas, but he’d been working on something else entirely the last few days.

A shoe design.

Imelda liked boots and she liked heels, but not heels that were too high or impractical. She always bought size ten, but judging by the wear of the sole she was really just a little smaller than that. She needed much more arch support than she was getting, which could be easily fixed, and a dark brown leather would be perfect. He would have to keep an eye out as he helped Berto unload the leather to see if they had the exact shade he was imagining, something strong but supple, something that would look good with the simple but elegant pattern he was imagining.

“What are you looking at?”

Héctor jumped, snapping the notebook closed as Imelda walked into the room, letting the door swing shut behind her.

“Nothing.” Héctor said, unable to keep from smiling as she walked over to him, looking down at him with her hands on her hips. How did she manage to be so beautiful all the time?

“Héctor Fortunato Tenorio Rivera, you are the worst liar in Mexico.” she said, folding her arms, “What is it? A song?”

“It’s a surprise,” Héctor said, tucking the notebook behind him and standing, putting his arms around her waist, “if I tell you it would ruin it.”

“It’s always a song with you.” Imelda said, rolling her eyes but smiled as she kissed him on the cheek.

“Not this time, en serio.” Héctor said, nuzzling the side of her head, savoring her scent after nearly three days without seeing her. Seeing her at the door hadn’t counted, not with Tia Elena ambushing them.

“Well, then what is it?” Imelda asked, leaning against him.

“Una sorpresaaaaa.” Héctor insisted, “What did Tia Elena want to talk to you about?”

“She wanted to make sure I wasn’t going to leave this time.” Imelda said simply, resting her head against his shoulder.

“Oh.” Héctor said, blinking, then pulling her closer, surprised to realize how much a question like that didn’t scare him anymore. Not after the last few months, “And what did you tell her?”

“That I’m stuck with you two whether I like it or not.” Imelda said, he could hear her smile,“And let’s face it, there’s no way you’re going to survive this without my help. I  _have_  to stay with you, just to keep you from messing things up.”

There was a lot of things Héctor wanted to say in that moment, but instead he just kissed the top of her head. “Te amo, Imelda.”

“I love you too.” she said, pulling back and taking his face in her hands, “Which is good, because we have a lot to do.”

“Aw, but do we have to do it right _now_?” Héctor asked, taking her hand and turning his head to kiss her palm.

“Yes, actually,” Imelda said, brushing his bangs back with her free hand, “Elena sent me to tell you it’s time to eat, and after that we’re starting custody talks. Also, you’ve told Ernesto that Miguel is coming back home with you again, right?”

Héctor jolted as the thing he’d been forgetting slapped him in the face.

“Oh no, I said I’d call him hours ago.” he said, quickly fishing his phone out of his pocket and cringed to see a mess of missed texts and calls on the screen of his silenced phone, “I sent him a text last night saying our trip was off, we were going to travel for a few days. I was going to call him this morning to explain everything with Miguel. Ahhh I’m such an idiot.”

“See? This is why I can’t leave you for even two days.” Imelda teased, kissing his nose, “Well, you call him and then come to dinner alright?”

“Por supuesta, I’ll be right there!” Héctor said, dialing Ernesto back as quickly as he could.

 

***

 

_No trip tonight, change of plans, still in Santa Cecilia, will call in morning!!!_

Ernesto checked his phone for the millionth time that day, but only Héctor’s message from last night was on the screen. Just like it had been for...

He checked his watch.

Just like it had been for over twenty-four hours.

Ernesto stood from the kitchen table, snapping his laptop shut. He’d been pretending to answer emails for hours now, telling himself that Héctor  _probably_  wasn’t wasn’t dead in a ditch somewhere, that he  _shouldn’t_  call the police, that Héctor was always forgetful and probably just forgot to call him that morning.

And that afternoon.

And tonight.

Not to mention how much of a mess Héctor had been the last couple weeks, and that they’d been on rocky terms since the concert. In Ernesto’s head he couldn’t help adding up all the factors to equal a deathtrap of a van totaled on the side of the road somewhere with a very dead lanky idiot inside.

Ernesto jumped as his phone buzzed on the table.

He dived for it, seeing Héctor’s dumb face on the screen for the instant before he answered it.

“Where are you?” he barked into the phone.

“Ernesto! I am so soooo sorry I forgot to call, I apologize, everything has been crazy here and my phone’s been on silent all day and I-”

“Are you alright?” Ernesto demanded.

“Sí, sí, I am, I’m so sorry about this mess Ernesto, I-”

“You idiota, first you cancel our trip at the very last second and then you leave me wondering what happened for a whole day?” Ernesto said angrily, rubbing his face. He took a deep breath and hissed a long sigh as he sat on the back of the couch, half folding his arms as he held the phone to his ear. “So what happened, did someone die or something?”

“What? No, I’m adopting Miguel!”

Ernesto stopped with his hand halfway down his face, staring across the room at nothing as the words processed in his mind.

Adopting. Miguel.

“Que?” Ernesto managed to choke out.

_Héctor_? Of all people,  _Héctor_  thought he could handle adopting a kid?

“Sí!” Héctor said, sounding frighteningly excited, “I’m going to get custody of Miguel and adopt him officially, we’re staying here until after the new year to start all the paperwork and start getting things worked out. I’m really really sorry about our roadtrip, but everything finally looks like it’s falling into place!” there was some chattering in the background and then Héctor’s muffled voice as he responded to whoever it was, “Lo siento Ernesto, I have to go, dinner’s on the table, I’ll call you back later!”

“Héctor!” Ernesto started.

But Héctor had already hung up.

Ernesto stared at his phone in disbelief, feeling like he was in some bizarre dream that just might be turning into a nightmare. He dialed Héctor back, holding his phone to his ear as it rang.

If Héctor was serious, then the kid would be coming back to the apartment. Héctor’s distraction, the studio being a bedroom, missed events and botched performances and kid germs everywhere and Imelda bossing everyone around all the time and the kid’s well-being being the center of everything  _all the time_. It would all be back.

But now without an ending date, without a specific day that Ernesto could look forward to for everything to go back to normal.

Ernesto’s grip on the phone tightened as it rang and rang.

And kept on ringing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back to teacher au everyone! I hope you’re excited for the second season of this fic and thank you all so much for being patient and supportive while I’ve been wrapping up villain au. We’ve been planning this arc for a long time and we’re excited to be back from hiatus. Our crew has quite a bit to sort through here as the second part of their story starts, so buckle your seatbelts.
> 
> Also, if you haven’t already, go check out @hectorriveraseyelashes on tumblr. Lashes is a side character in the fic and Héctor’s biggest fan, but she also has a real life tumblr blog that you can visit. Everything on her blog is teacher!au canon, meaning that you can interact with her to get extra world details and easter eggs for the au.
> 
> Happy reading and welcome back!
> 
> -          Wit


	13. A Talk

                This was the _absolute_ last straw.

                These words had crossed Ernesto’s mind at least twenty times per day since _the_ phone call, but honestly, he couldn’t fault himself too badly for it. After all, he’d put up with a lot of Héctor’s nonsense over the past few months—his awful boss-girlfriend, the fallout from when his awful boss-girlfriend dumped him, a kid suddenly _living_ in _his_ apartment, being dumped with said kid at _an adult-only venue._

He’d suffered silently through all this, because that was what best friends did. But he had to draw the line with Héctor adopting the kid. He _could not_ be fine with that.

Sure, Héctor had done pretty well babysitting him. Even Ernesto could admit that. But raising him? Parenting him? Héctor couldn’t even parent _himself._ He was a walking disaster. He couldn’t cook, he barely slept, he couldn’t even remember to _call his friend to let him know he wasn’t dead._ He’d wager that the only reason Miguel hadn’t died was because of the awful boss-girlfriend—which meant if Héctor was adopting him, _she’d_ be over more often, too.

At the end of the day, yes, he knew Héctor was an adult, and yes, of course he could make poor life decisions if he wanted to, like suddenly becoming a father. But dragging Ernesto into it without even the slightest heads up? _That_ was completely unacceptable, and Ernesto had every intention to tell him that. And to maybe tell him to move in with his _diosa_ while he was at it, because he was done. With kids, with Héctor’s nonsense, with _everything._

                He would have liked to have the conversation a little sooner, truth be told, but every call and text was met with _“busy right now! will talk later!”_ By the third day of trying, he gave up, resigning himself to stew in his anger and be all the more motivated to give Héctor possibly the most intense call-out in Mexican history.

                But finally, _finally_ , Ernesto got the text he was waiting for.

                _Heading back home, will be there in about three hours!_

                Well, at least he had the decency to give him a heads up this time. That gave Ernesto enough time to gather his thoughts and have the _perfect_ opener when Héctor slunk in the door. As the three hour mark drew closer, Ernesto sat himself down on the sofa and watched the door, going over what he’d planned on saying.

                _The way you’ve been acting with me lately has been_ completely _unacceptable. I’ve listed out all the ways you’ve been seriously crossing the line as my friend and—_

                Ernesto’s mental rehearsal was cut short as the door flew open and a red-jacketed blur zoomed in with a loud laugh.

                “You’re so _slooow!_ ” The blur had slowed down enough to be recognizably Miguel, and he ran back to the door. “I beat you by _ages!_ ”

                “Espéranos, chamaco! We’re carrying a lot more stuff than you are.”

                Miguel gave a loud huff of faux-annoyance, then turned and blinked as he saw Ernesto on the sofa. His face split into a huge grin. “Hola, Cruz! Did you hear what happened? I get to stay here!”

                “I…sí, I did hear that.” Ernesto got to his feet, crossing his arms as he looked at the door. “I’ve actually been waiting to talk to your tío about it.”

                “Oye, Miguel, was the door open when you came up? Is…” A large box with two long, skinny legs came into the apartment, and Ernesto narrowed his eyes as he saw two big brown eyes peek over the top of it. “ _Oh._ Hola, Nesto. Uh, feliz año nuevo!”

                Ernesto didn’t reply, vaguely aware of Miguel’s excitement tapering off as he looked between the two of them. Héctor looked away, then cleared his throat.

                “Uh, well, let’s get this into your room, chamaco. Tía Imelda should be…”

                “I’m here, I’m here.” Imelda shook her head as she wheeled in Miguel’s suitcase. “Not all of us can skip three steps at a time, you know.” She paused for a moment, looking over the scene, then gave Héctor some manner of _couple look_ as she walked past Ernesto. Miguel glanced up at him, then quickly followed after her.

                Ernesto barely held back a huff as he heard a few whispers between the couple as they went to the ~~recording room~~ _Miguel’s room_ , _apparently,_ trying his best to block it out. So what was coming now? Was _Imelda_ moving in, too? It honestly wouldn’t surprise him at this point.

But what could he _do?_ It wasn’t like he could say anything to Héctor _now_. He might have been willing to list out his grievances if it was just the girlfriend—in fact, he had plenty to say to _her,_ too—but even he knew it’d be unnecessarily cruel to drag Héctor with the kid there. So it looked like there was no other option but to go back to stewing.

He shut his laptop with a sharp clack and made his way back to his room, not even wincing as he shut the door a little harder than necessary. He hated this. Every _part_ of the current situation was awful, and he couldn’t even blame this on the kid or even _Imelda_. No, every problem in the past few months had all been 100% Héctor’s fault. It was like having the kid around made him completely forget that Ernesto _existed_ until he needed a babysitter. Twenty years of friendship forgotten in less than six months, it seemed. 

                _Dios_ , he could just about _kill_ Héctor for that.

                Ernesto shook his head. No. No, he wasn’t going to sit back and let Héctor think he could get away with this. Forget the girlfriend, forget the kid; he needed to tell him what was wrong _right now_ , or he’d completely lose it. He huffed a breath through his nose, then set the laptop on his desk and went back to the door, throwing it open…

                …and finding Héctor standing in front of it, a bag in one hand, the other still raised to knock.

                They both stayed still for a moment, then Ernesto let out an irritated sigh as he crossed his arms again.

                “Did you _want_ something?” he asked sharply. Héctor swallowed, shoulders immediately drawing in.

                “I, uh, I got you this on the way home.” He opened up the bag and pulled out a bottle of tequila, his trademark stupid sheepish smile spreading across his face as he shrugged. “It’s, um, it’s a ‘sorry for cancelling and making you think I was dead’ present.”

                Ernesto glanced at the bottle, then back up at Héctor. Finally, he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, glancing up as he heard Héctor shift back and forth.

                “So, I know that I ha—”

                He quickly held up a hand, stopping Héctor mid-word.

                “I don’t want to talk about this _here_ ,” he said, looking pointedly over his shoulder at Miguel’s door—where he _knew_ Imelda was listening in. “I want to talk to you alone, or else I don’t even want to _bother._ ”

                Héctor pressed his lips together hard, then nodded as he rubbed the back of his head. “Yeah, uh, yeah, of course.” He raised his eyebrows as he looked up at Ernesto. “Maybe up to the roof?”

                Ernesto waited a moment, debating, then nodded with a sigh. “Fine, the roof.”

                Another stupid smile. “Great! I’ll, uh…give me one second and I’ll meet you up there.”

                Once Héctor turned, Ernesto rolled his eyes and headed out of the apartment—making a quick stop by the kitchen to grab two shot glasses. He should be relieved that there were going to get to talk, but he…hadn’t planned it going down like this. Even with his list of all the ways Héctor had wronged him, he thought it’d be more _spontaneous_ —a really satisfying, telenovela-worthy screaming match _._ But for whatever reason, having a set time and place for a talk like this was making his stomach curl uncomfortably.

                And, as he carefully made his way up the service stairs, another thought hit him: had they ever _had_ a talk like this before? They’d had plenty of talks before, of course, but those were good talks, not dealing-with-problems talks. There _had_ been that time they’d stopped talking when Héctor went off to universidad—but that was it, they _stopped_ talking, and when they met up again at his tía’s funeral, they pretended like nothing had happened.

                He suddenly realized that he had no idea how to have the talk they needed.

                He took a breath as he stepped out onto the roof, smoothing his hair back with his free hand. Well, then, he’d just have to _figure_ out how to talk. After spending so much time thinking about it, he couldn’t just _chicken out_. Héctor had to know he’d wronged Ernesto. Best friends talked, after all. Even when they _really, really_ didn’t want to. And, even if it was uncomfortable as _hell_ , a good talk would get Héctor to see straight again. And then things would _finally_ go back to normal.

                That thought alone bolstered Ernesto up as he took a seat at the usual spot, and he let out a long, slow breath as he looked out at the city lights below. He’d just managed to relax his shoulders as Héctor plopped himself down beside him.

                “Came out on a good night, didn’t we? Pretty sure we can see all the way to Guadalajara with how clear it is.” He gave Ernesto a smile. Ernesto returned it with an unimpressed look, making Héctor  press his lips together as he looked down at the bottle. “Uh…been a while since we’ve been up here, huh?” he asked as he twisted the cap off the tequila bottle. “Probably not since the end of last school year, now that I think about it.”

                _Dios_. That was only about six months ago; it felt like _years_ had gone by since it’d been just Ernesto y Héctor, not Héctor y Miguel y Imelda and only Ernesto if they needed a babysitter. He grimaced, then held out his hand for the bottle before carefully pouring them each a shot.

                “Glasses? En serio? I thought we’d just…” Héctor mimed taking a drink from the bottle.

                “We are _adults_ , Héctor. And besides, I don’t know what you might have picked up from Santa Cecilia.” He held out one of the glasses to Héctor, then tapped them together. “Salud.”

                They both knocked back their shot and did their best to not make a face. Then, quietly, they sat.

                Ernesto took a breath, taking advantage of the moment of silence to once again re-order his thoughts. Just as he opened his mouth to start, though, words poured out of Héctor.

                “Look, I am _so, so_ sorry about what happened. I didn’t want to make you worry and—”

Ernesto blinked as Héctor tried to _pre-emptively apologize_ , and he quickly waved his hands. “Stop, _stop!_ ”

Héctor did stop, eyes wide as he looked up at Ernesto. “What?”

                Ernesto huffed, cradling his head for a moment before he gave Héctor a pointed look. “You know, Teto, you are _really good_ at apologizing. But do you _ever_ think about what you’re _actually_ sorry about?”

                Héctor blinked. “I…well, I’m sorry I made you worry about me.”

                “Mm. Okay. And are you sorry for dumping a kid on me at an over-eighteen venue?”

                Héctor grimaced. “Well, I…”

                “And are you sorry for not telling me that he’d be staying with us for _months_?”

                “He didn’t have anywh—”

                “Or for _adopting him_ without so much as _checking_ to see if _I_ was fine having a kid live in our apartment forever?”

                At that, Héctor straightened up. “ _That_ was my decision, and…”

                Ernesto threw up his hands. “Oh, so it was _your_ decision. Nevermind the _other name on the lease_ , I guess! Since this is _your_ decision, I guess that means that _you’re_ the only one who matters! It’s not like _anyone else_ is living here! I guess if you’re not related or not _dating,_ then you basically don’t exist in the world of _Héctor Rivera!_ ”

                Héctor sat up straight, eyes wide and whole body frozen. Ernesto stared hard at him for a moment, then sighed as he pushed his hair back into place.

                “Sorry,” he said stiffly, keeping his eyes firmly to the side.

                “No, you’re not.” Ernesto looked up, catching Héctor’s pained look. “That’s really how you’ve been feeling, Nesto?”

Ernesto grimaced and bit back a groan. Of course this would turn to a talk about _feelings,_ not _facts_. He should’ve expected nothing less from Héctor. He took the bottle and poured them each another drink, more for something to do rather than to actually drink it. “My _feelings_ don’t have anything to do with this. You have, _objectively_ , been more focused on Miguel and… _her_ for the past few months.” He waved his hand as Héctor opened his mouth. “And I _know._ Miguel had to stay with us at the start.” He gave Héctor a flat look as he picked up his glass again. “But you could’ve given a _little_ notice beforehand. And _not_ dropped him on me before the concert.”

                Héctor pressed his lips together, then rubbed his knee awkwardly. “You know, you’re right.”

                “I mean, you _know_ I don’t do well with…” Ernesto paused, glass halfway to his lips as he processed what Héctor said. He shut his eyes and let out a very soft, victorious breath. _Finally._ He’d _finally_ broken through Héctor’s thick head. He’d known he would, of course, and part of him really wanted to say so. But…well, saying “I _know_ I’m right,” was far too petty. So instead, he knocked back his shot, then, as innocently as he could, he asked, “Perdón, what was that?”

                Okay, so he maybe he was a _little_ petty.

                Héctor shrugged. “You’re right. I should’ve talked about it with you, and I’m sorry that I didn’t.” He looked up at him. “I don’t know if things would’ve been any different, but I should have at least sent you a text or something. Keep you in the loop, you know? Just…with Quique and Luisa being gone…”

                “You’ve been distracted, that’s understandable. You…”

                Héctor shook his head, waving his hand to cut Ernesto off. “Not even that. I just…” He sighed, staring back out at the lights below them. “That was _me_ when I was his age. I mean, I _had_ a parent…”

                “Not much of one.”

                “…but she wasn’t around,” Héctor finished with a grimace. “And the last thing I want is for any kid to feel forgotten because they’ve been shuffled off to an already-established family without any say.”

                Ernesto huffed, unconsciously rubbing his right arm as he rolled his eyes. “You’re worrying too much, Héctor. Believe me, there _are_ worse ways to spend a childhood.”  

                A pained look crossed Héctor’s face, but he shook his head. “But that’s the thing, I don’t _want_ Miguel to have any kind of bad childhood. I want him to _thrive._ And I…I really think I could help him do that.”

                “And I’m not saying you can’t, but _adopting_ him? Are you sure you’re…”

                “If you finish that sentence with ‘ready for this,’ I’m throwing you off the roof.” Ernesto sat up straight as Héctor’s voice grew sharp. “ _Believe me_ , Tía Elena asked me every question possible before I signed a single document. And Imelda followed right after. I don’t need you adding to that.”

                Ernesto blinked, then held his head with a sigh. “But that’s the thing. You’re _not_ ready _._ ” Héctor’s eyes flashed, but before he could say a word, Ernesto defensively held up his hands. “Listen, Teto, I’m not trying to be _mean._ But are you really expecting me to believe you went from forgetting _employee meetings_ to being able to care for a kid?”

                Héctor set his jaw. “I’ve done pretty good so far, haven’t I?”

                “Sure, but anyone could watch a kid for a couple months.” He leaned forward, fixing his eyes right on Héctor’s. “But you have a _life_ , Héctor. We’re not going to just stay in a tiny town working dead-end jobs.” He shrugged. “You can still be there for Miguel. Your Tía Victoria was there without being your guardian, you could be the same for him.” As a dark look crossed Héctor’s face, he sighed. “I know you’ve got it in your head that this is what you _need_ to do. But we have a _career,_ Héctor. We’re right on the cusp of fame.” He smiled as he gestured at the city lights below. “ _Everyone_ ’s going to know who we are. Just a little more effort, and we’ll have _finally_ reached our dream.”

                “… _your_ dream.”

                Ernesto froze. He…couldn’t have heard that right. _“What?”_

                Héctor’s anger dissipated, leaving him looking very tired as he let his head fall back with a sigh. “This whole…fame thing, it was always _your_ thing. It wasn’t really mine.”

                Something unpleasant flared up in Ernesto’s chest, and he felt as though his brain was short-circuiting. What? _What_? He raised his eyebrows at Héctor. “Oh, I’m _sorry_ , I didn’t realize I had forced you into _enjoying performances._ ”

                Héctor’s face screwed up at the sharp words. “ _Basta._ I like it, sure, but…it’s not my life, you know?” He pressed his lips together as he drew his knees up.

“Then _what have we been doing?_ Why go along with this if it ‘ _wasn’t your thing_ ’?” Ernesto’s voice cracked mid-snap; there was no pretending to be calm this time.

                “I stuck with it because you’re my _friend_ , Nesto. Because I knew this was important to you, and I wanted to help you reach your dream. That’s what friends _do._ ” Héctor swallowed. “And…and that’s what I’m asking you to do now. I _know_ I messed up, I _know_ I should have talked to you more, but…” Héctor blinked a few times and swallowed, expression earnest as he looked up at his friend. “But I can _see_ where my life could be heading. With Imelda back and Miguel here…” A small, but very, very bright smile crossed his face.  “It’s everything I ever wanted. I _can’t_ let it go. I need to…what’s that thing you say? I need to _seize my moment_. And this is my _moment._ ”

                Ernesto’s throat tightened. No. _No._ Héctor couldn’t _really_ be thinking like that. He was supposed to be seeing reason at this point. He was supposed to agree that Ernesto was right.

_This wasn’t how the conversation was supposed to go._

Ernesto sucked in a breath, then leaned forward. He tried his best to keep his voice even as he said, “Héctor, _please._ I need you to _think_ about this before y—”

                “I _have._ I’ve thought about this nonstop since I got to Santa Cecilia, maybe even since I brought Miguel home.” Héctor sat up straight, eyes bright and face very calm as he met Ernesto’s gaze. “Think whatever you want about how prepared I am, but my mind’s made up.” He looked over at him, brow slightly furrowed. “I know you want the best for me, and I really am sorry that I kept forgetting about you. I _swear_ , things will be better from here on out.” He smiled again, brown eyes bright. “But this is _it,_ Nesto. This is where my life’s supposed to go.”

                Ernesto couldn’t even _begin_ to find the words he needed. If he knew Héctor—and, he wagered, he knew him better than anyone—the look on his face only cemented Ernesto’s worst fears for the conversation: instead of getting him to see reason, he only managed to get Héctor even _more_ lost in his delusions.

                He stayed mutely frozen in place as Héctor let out a sigh before getting to his feet. “I’m going to head back down,” he said, as if he hadn’t just made what was likely one of the top ten worst decisions of all time. “I told Miguel I’d help him get his things back where he had them before Navidad. Save a drink or two for me, okay?” Without waiting for a reply, Héctor started to walk away. He stopped however, and turned back once he reached the stairs. “Ernesto?”

                Ernesto didn’t respond.

                He knew Héctor lingered for a moment, and he still didn’t move even when he heard a sigh, followed by footsteps slowly receding back into the building. Even then, he didn’t move, eyes focused out on the city lights as the roof went completely silent again.

                One second passed.

                Then two.

                Then, very slowly, he put his arms over his head, curled inward, and did his best to scream as loud as he could while keeping his mouth shut.

                That idiot. That _idiot._ He’d missed _everything_ Ernesto had said, and now he was prepared to up and _leave?_ After everything they’d been through? After _everything_ they’d worked for? He let his arms drop, for once leaving his hair mussed as he banged his head back against the vent.

                So that was it. This was the end of Ernesto y Héctor. Twenty years of friendship, up and gone in less than six months. He grimaced. It wasn’t _fair._ Why was _he_ the one getting punished when _Héctor_ was the one making disastrous choice after disastrous choice? All he wanted, all he _ever wanted_ , was to tour the world with his best friend, making beautiful music and having fun and living the lives they—yes, _they_ , even if Héctor denied it—had always dreamed of. But now it looked like he’d have to go at it alone.

                _Alone._

                Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. Ernesto picked up Héctor’s still-full shot glass, staring hard at it as he tried to figure out a future he hadn’t planned for. _Alone._ He wouldn’t have to deal with Héctor getting moody for this reason or that. Or one of his unannounced friends showing up and stealing him away when Ernesto was talking up an agent. He _definitely_ wouldn’t have to deal with the awful boss-girlfriend or the kid. And he’d done an entire solo tour this past summer, after all!

                But it hadn’t been the same. There’d been no one to play off of onstage, no one to celebrate with after a particularly good show—no one to talk to in the time between shows. And if he tried to get by without Héctor’s songs? He could kiss his career goodbye. Everything, _every_ part of his dream, relied on Héctor being at his side. Like he’d always been. Like they’d planned to be forever.

                Ernesto’s hand trembled, and with a frustrated snarl, he threw the glass right off the roof.

                It wasn’t ending like this.

                He _would not_ let everything end here.

                He’d find a way to bring Héctor back. He didn’t know just yet how, but he _would._ All he had to do was _seize his moment._

                He took a few deep breaths, then pushed his hair back into place and adjusted his coat. He’d play along for now. He’d go with having the kid around. But Héctor _had_ to know that he was in no way fit to care for a child just yet. Ernesto would save him from this. Just like he’d saved him from bullies back home, just like he’d saved him from his mother, just like he’d _almost_ saved him from Imelda.

                Because _that_ is what best friends did.

 

 

               

           

               

               

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks so much for reading! And, of course, thank you all so so much for all the asks, fanart, and even meta that’s been written up around this fic. We’re both so, so glad that you guys are enjoying the story that much–especially since we enjoy writing it so much!
> 
> Wit has the next update, so keep your eyes peeled for that, and we’ll be seeing you soon!


	14. Visit

                “Don’t tug your head like that, chamaco, it makes it hurt more. Trust me, I know.”

                Miguel huffed with a wince as the comb pulled through his unruly hair, though he didn’t pull away this time. “I could’ve done this _myself_ , Tío Héctor.”

                “And have you miss the back like you always do? Sorry, Miguelito, but no. Not today.”

                _Right._ Today was _the visit._

                To be honest, Miguel didn’t really know what _the visit_ was entirely about. Tío Héctor had been on the phone almost constantly for the past few weeks—either with the social worker (who, Tía Imelda had explained, was the person making sure that Miguel was being properly cared for) or with Abuelita to talk about what the social worker had said. And if he wasn’t on the phone or grading papers, he was filling out _other_ papers that Miguel couldn’t make heads or tails of, even when Héctor had tried to explain. It all seemed really confusing and _really_ boring.

                At least, it’d been boring until Tío Héctor said that the social worker was going to _visit._ Apparently she had to check in to see if Miguel really was safe and cared for (which he _obviously_ was), and even he could tell that his tío was _really_ worried about it. If _he_ was this worked up over it, then Miguel figured that this social worker must be pretty scary—maybe even as scary as Maestra Guadalupe from his old school. The thought of being face-to-face with someone like that again was enough to send shivers down his own spine.

                So, in order to help out, Miguel was trying his best to stay calm about it. He was doing pretty good most of the week—regularly assuring his tío that yes, he was fine and no, he hadn’t even been thinking about the visit—but it was _really_ hard with how Tío Héctor was acting today. Even though it was a Saturday, he was in his teacher clothes, and _his_ hair had been combed and tamed—something Miguel had _never_ seen, not even at the funeral. Add that he’d spent the whole morning trying to clean the already-cleaned-several-times apartment, and Tía Imelda—who’d been there since before Miguel had woken up that morning—following him around and continuously saying, “It’s _fine,_ mi amor. It’s going to be just fine.”

                Well, almost continuously. She stopped repeating that in order to say, “Héctor, if you comb Miguel’s hair any more, he’s going to be _bald._ ”

                Miguel gasped and pulled his head away from the comb, turning back to look at Héctor with wide eyes as he covered his head. He didn’t want to be _bald._

                  Héctor gave him a weak smile. “Tranquilo, chamaco, don’t worry. All your hair’s still there.” He ruffled Miguel’s hair, then pressed his lips together as free hand started to drift up to his own hair, stopping just in time. “Sorry. I just…”

                “You’re nervous.” Imelda cut him off as she walked over to him, setting her hands on his arms.  “And that’s _all right_ , Héctor. Anyone would be in your situation. But you need to…”

                She trailed off as the other bedroom door opened, and Ernesto walked out into the living area. He didn’t even look over at them as he headed into the kitchen, tapping some sort of tune in-between fiddling with his fancy coffee machine. (Héctor, Miguel had learned, wasn’t allowed to touch it after some incident that included steamed milk and the emergency room.) 

                Something had been… _weird_ with him since Miguel had come back, even weirder than after what had happened at the club, and for the life of him, Miguel couldn’t figure out _what._ He and Tío Héctor had barely talked since Navidad, and the few times they did, it was sharp, short, and _definitely_ not best friend talk. He wondered if they’d had a fight, but what was there to fight about? Things were basically the same as they were before he left.

                “Oye, Nesto, ah…could you be careful in there?” Héctor asked, voice a little tight. “The visit’s today and…”

                “I’m not going to make a mess,” Ernesto replied shortly. “That’s _your_ thing, not mine.”

                Miguel looked up at Héctor; his tío looked like he was about to argue, but Imelda squeezed his arms and gave him a _look_ , so he let out a sigh instead. Even so, the way Ernesto and Héctor glared at each other sure made it feel like there was still a fight going on, even if it was too quiet to hear.

                The coffee machine beeped, and Ernesto finally broke eye contact to get his mug. “Don’t worry. I’ll be spending the day editing,” he said flatly. “You don’t need to worry about me ruining your visit.” Before anyone else could reply, he headed straight back to his room, shutting the door sharply behind him. Miguel’s brow creased, and he looked up at Héctor.

                “Is he mad about something?” he asked quietly. Héctor puffed out a breath, pulling away from Imelda to stuff his hands in his pockets and narrowing his eyes at the door.

                “He’s _pouting._ ”

                “ _Héctor.”_

                Imelda had brought out her Directora voice, and she and Héctor stared at each other for a moment. Miguel fought to keep himself from groaning. Did grown-ups ever actually _talk_ to each other, or did they all just communicate by _staring_?

Apparently the silent talk worked, because Héctor shook his head and shoulders before looking down at Miguel with a sigh. “Don’t worry about him. He’s fine.”

                That was the other thing Miguel was realizing about grown-ups: they lied. A _lot._ It was kind of dumb to keep him in the dark; after all, it wasn’t like he was a _baby._ He was almost nine _._ He should know what was going on, and he was about to say so.

                But a quick knock on the door rang out, and _everything_ went still.

                Imelda was quick to move behind Miguel, setting her hands on his shoulders. Despite _just_ thinking that he was too old to be babied, he leaned against her. Sure, he was almost nine, but even he was a little scared at the prospect of a Maestra Guadalupe clone.

                Héctor looked at Imelda with wide eyes, then murmured a quick prayer and crossed himself (another thing Miguel had _never_ seen from his tío) before walking up to the door. Again, he took a deep breath and shook his head and shoulders, then opened the door.

                “Buenos días! Are you Héctor Rivera?”

                “Ah…sí, that’s me.”

                “I’m Elena Marquez, the agent you talked to on the phone. I’m here for Miguel’s visit.”

                “A-ah, sísísí, we were expecting you! Come, come right in.”

                Héctor stepped back, and the social worker stepped in.

                …at least, Miguel _thought_ it was the social worker. He squinted as Señora Marquez walked in. He had been expecting a tall, mean-faced vieja with a very scary ruler, not a tiny lady around Tío Héctor’s age in a bright red suit with a not-very-scary clipboard. She looked around the apartment, then gave him a bright smile.

                “You must be Miguel!” She walked over to him, leaning a little to meet his eyes. “Your primo and abuelita have told me so much about you. I’m so glad to meet you today!” 

                Miguel frowned slightly, unsure of how to respond. _This_ was who Tío Héctor had been so scared of? She seemed so… _nice._ But, when he glanced up at him, he still looked a little sick, so she _must_ be scary. Miguel just had to figure out _how_ she was scary.

                After a beat of silence, Señora Marquez gave him a little nod, then stood up straight to look at Imelda with another bright smile. “And you’re Imelda, sí?”

                Miguel looked up to see Tía Imelda give a warm smile,  the  kind she usually used with parents. “That’s right. I take it Héctor’s mentioned me?”

                “Very much! He’s said such lovely things, especially with how much you’ve helped with Miguel.” She looked down at her clipboard for a moment before turning to look at Héctor. “So this visit is going to go exactly the way I said on the phone. There’s nothing to be nervous about, just a quick look around and then a little talk with all the residents. Suena bien, Héctor?”

                Héctor swallowed, then put on a stiff smile before he nodded. She gave him a gentle smile in return, then made her way around the living room. Miguel watched her closely, lips pressed tightly together as she scribbled on her clipboard. He started to follow after her, but Tía Imelda held his shoulders fast.

                “Just stay here with me,” she murmured. “She’ll be done in just a bit.”

                Miguel frowned up at her, but one eyebrow raise was enough to keep him from arguing. He crossed his arms with a huff, watching silently as Tío Héctor trailed after Señora Marquez as she made her way to the kitchen. This was worse than when he had to sit in one place. He could _see_ Señora Marquez ask Héctor a few questions, but he couldn’t quite hear what she was saying, just that something was missing. Given the way that Tío Héctor swallowed and started murmuring something very quickly with an unconvincing smile, she’d noticed something bad. But _what_ could be bad? Did she figure out that Héctor couldn’t cook? That wasn’t much of a problem! If he could just go over there, he could tell her that!

                He started to look up at Imelda with wide eyes, but another raised eyebrow stopped his attempt. Of course, she was the _one person_ not swayed by the puppy-dog eyes. He huffed, crossing his arms tighter as they moved away from the kitchen and toward his room. He perked up, listening hard as they paused outside his door.

                “Is this…soundproof foam?”

                “Uh, yeah, it is. We’re still remodeling Miguel’s room; it used to be our studio before he came to stay with us. Bu-but there’s no equipment or anything inside! Nothing heavy or sharp, totally safe for a kid.”

                “I don’t doubt you, but…why the foam?”

                “Well, Ernesto—my roommate, I mentioned him in the call—and I are musicians. This used to be where we recorded; the foam’s to keep sound from coming in.”

                “I see…” Miguel watched as she looked up at Héctor before writing something on her clipboard. His eyes widened as she added, “Can we take a look inside?”

                “Only if you promise not to move his luchador card collection.”

                Miguel frowned hard as they went into his room. Señora Marquez had seemed a little…worried when Héctor said he and Ernesto were musicians. Was that bad? It was the truth, though! But what if that got Tío Héctor in trouble? _What if he wasn’t allowed to take care of Miguel?_ He _had_ to know what they were saying.

                “There, see? That wasn’t so long.” Tía Imelda patted his shoulder. “While we wait for them, why don’t we do some of your math homework?”

                How was _math_ supposed to help? He didn’t quite say that, but he was sure his expression did when he looked up at her. (See? He was _totally_ a grown-up.) His brow furrowed as he thought. Tía Imelda _definitely_ wasn’t going to let him eavesdrop; she’d probably tell him that he didn’t need to worry about what was going on. Except that he _did_. After all, it was _his_ life they were talking about! He looked away, eyes going to the kitchen as he tried to think of a way to distract her, just for a few minutes so he could _listen._

                “Uh, Tía Imelda?”

                “Yes, Miguel?”

                “Before we do math, I’m… _really_ hungry.”

                Imelda blinked, then crossed her arms. “You are? Even though we _just_ had breakfast an hour ago?”

                “I, um, I…wasn’t able to eat much.”

                Once again, her eyebrow went straight up. “You cleaned your plate.”

                _Shoot_. Miguel pressed his lips together, eyes darting over her face before he shrugged. “Maybe I’m growing? Tío Héctor, he said that he was always _starving_ right before a growth spurt; maybe I’m about to wind up as tall as he is!”

                Despite her eyebrow staying in place, a smile quirked at her lips, and she shook her head. “Ay, I don’t know if you’re growing, but you certainly take after him. But I think I can get you a little snack. There should still be some fruit in the refrigerator…”

                Fruit didn’t give him enough time. Miguel rocked back on his heels.

                “Um, actually…if it’s not too much trouble, could…I have a quesadilla?” He gave her a big, hopeful smile (which he knew was _extra_ cute because he’d lost a tooth the other day). “ _Please?_ ”

                Imelda tapped a finger to her lips, then sighed. “Well, I think they’re done with the kitchen. I can manage that.”

                “Gracias, Tía Imelda!”

                He’d have to move fast, and he was _definitely_ going to get caught. But his room wasn’t in a hallway like Héctor’s was, so he’d probably be able to hear a decent amount of the discussion before his inevitable grounding. Really, it was a small price to pay for knowing what was going to happen to him.

                He waited for her to start looking for what she’d need, then quickly—and on his tiptoes—headed over to his door. He glanced back to the kitchen; looked like Tía Imelda was still looking for the tortillas (it’d probably take her a while to figure out they were in the freezer), which meant he could listen now. He pressed his ear to the door, listening as hard as he could.

                “Is this the permanent bed situation?” he heard Señora Marquez ask.

                “No! No, no. I-it…well, it wasn’t until very recently that Miguel staying was a permanent thing. Between school and all the paperwork, we haven’t had the chance to get anything more than the mattress. But the mattress is new!”

                “Mm.”

                “My, ah, my tía—the one you talked to, with the same name as you—she wanted to send over his whole bed along with his things, but…well, I figured he might as well start fresh here, you know?”

                “Of course.”

                “But he’ll _absolutely_ have a bedframe by the end of the month.”

                “And the rest of the foam?”

                “That’ll all be gone, too. Probably in Ernesto’s room.”

                “The roommate, yes? I meant to ask when I called, but will he be available to talk to?”

                “He…should be.  Why?”

                “Well, I need to interview everyone in the household.”

                “Oh, but Ernesto…”

                “It’s the law, Héctor, I’ve got to.”

                Miguel’s brow creased as he heard Héctor take a breath. “I’ll…get him for you. But I think you’d have a better time talking to Imelda.”

                “Like I said, I need to talk to everyone in the _house_ hold.”

                “Of course. I just…”

                “ _Miguel!_ ”

                “Nothing!” Miguel’s response to Tía Imelda was quick, and he was standing straight in an instant, clutching his arm. He gave her a big grin as she walked toward him, frozen tortillas in hand, only to stop as the door opened.

                “Miguel?”

                “Nothing!” Miguel repeated, whirling around to look up at Tío Héctor and Señora Marquez. Héctor stared at him, then pinched the bridge of his nose.

                “Miguel, remember that thing I taught you about the other day, called _eavesdropping?_ ” When Miguel didn’t answer, he continued, “When you were listening to Ernesto’s livestream _without his permission_?”

                “I wasn’t doing that!”

                Héctor tilted his head, eyebrows raised. “Were you listening without permission?”

                “ _No_ ,” Miguel insisted. “I was just _listening!_ ”

                “Miguel…”                                                     

                Señora Marquez looked between the two, then smiled at Miguel. “Well, this actually works out well. Miguel is exactly who I wanted to talk to next.” She bent down slightly to meet his eyes again. “Are you all right if we talk by ourselves for a little bit?”

                Miguel shut his mouth, freezing up for a moment. He looked up at Héctor—he wasn’t looking _quite_ as nervous as before, and he gave him a smile as he set a hand on his head. “It’s not scary, chamaco. Elena is _very_ nice.”

                Miguel sent a dubious look his way as he ducked his head away from the hand. Well, this _was_ about his life and he _was_ almost nine. He should be brave about this.

                “Okay, I’m ready to talk,” he said very seriously, standing up straight.

                Señora Marquez raised her eyebrows with an amused smile, then looked up at Héctor. “I’ll just be a few minutes with him, don’t worry.”

                “Sísísí, of course. Take, take as long as you need.” Standing behind Señora Marquez, Héctor gave Miguel a hopeful grin and a thumbs up before he made his way out of the room. Miguel watched Héctor go, then took a breath as he was left alone with the _social worker._ Once the door closed, she smiled at him again.

                “How about we get comfortable?” she said. “Do you…”

                “I’ll sit on my bed!” Miguel quickly dropped down on the mattress, immediately trying to make himself look very comfortable. “I actually really like it like this,” he added quickly. “It’s not so high, so I, uh, don’t have to worry about falling off.”

                Señora Marquez chuckled. “Did you worry about falling off in your old bed?”

                “Oh, yeah. _All_ the time.”

                “I see. Then it’s very good your new bed is so low.” She pulled over the chair from the recently-emptied desk, sitting in front of him. She leaned forward, eyebrows raised. “So, do you like living with your primo?”

                Miguel nodded firmly. “It’s the _best._ ”

                She lifted up her clipboard, raising her eyebrows. “Oh? Why is that?”

                “Well, Tío Héctor’s a musician—a _real_ one, he went to school for it and everything—and that’s what I want to do, too! So he teaches me all sorts of music stuff—like what he teaches his students even though I’m only in primaria—and is fine with me practicing whenever.” He scrunched his nose. “Well so long as I get my homework done. Which I do!”

                “I believe you, I believe you,” Señora Marquez assured with a smile, taking a few notes. She leaned forward and asked in a whisper, “And does he let you do whatever you want? Like, say, eat nothing but sweets and stay up late?”

                Miguel snorted. “No _,_ definitely not. Even if Tía Imelda wasn’t here, Abuelita would _never_ let us get away with that.”

                “But she lives all the way in Santa Cecilia.”

                “She would _know_ ,” Miguel said seriously. “She knows _everything._ Once, she knew that I’d left the shop early, and she wasn’t even home _!_ ”

                “Ah, I see. She sounds like a true Abuelita, then,” Señora Marquez said, making another note. “She loves you and Héctor very much, I hope you know that.” She looked up at Miguel. “Though tell me a little bit about your Tía Imelda. Héctor said she’s the directora of your school, right?”

                Miguel nodded. “So I _really_ have to do my homework.”

                She chuckled again. “And you like her?”

                “Por supuesto! I know she’s kinda scary at first, but she’s _really_ nice.” He sat up straight. “She’s even been teaching me how to cook, just in case she can’t help with dinner.”

                Señora Marquez’s eyebrows rose. “Is she over that often?”

                Miguel nodded. “Almost every day. Tío Héctor _really_ likes her.”

                “I can see that.” She paused for a moment, looking at her notes. “Now, if they…broke up…”

                “They tried that and it didn’t work.”

                Señora Marquez shook her head. “Let’s pretend for a moment. If they broke up, and if Imelda didn’t come anymore, would you still feel like you were taken care of?”

                “Oh, sure! Tío Héctor’s gotten a little better at cooking, and the abuelas downstairs would be able to help us out if we really needed it.”

                Señora Marquez nodded, taking another note. “All right, we’re just about done. But for my next question, I need you to be _very_ honest, Miguel, okay?”

                Miguel pressed his lips together, looking at her suspiciously. “Okay.”

                She leaned forward to meet his eyes, face very serious. “Has there been any situation where you felt scared while living here?”

                _Scared?_ While living with Tío Héctor? He frowned; it felt like a trap of some sort, but…well, he’d agreed to be honest. “Well, the first time he took me on the motorcycle was a little scary.”

                “He took you on a motorcycle?”

                “Well, a few months after I came. He had to wait for all the safety equipment to come in before he’d let me ride it—he even straps me to him like a seatbelt!”

                Señora Marquez smiled, making a note. “I see. Anything else?”

                “Sometimes I get nightmares—not much now, but when I first came. But Tío Héctor would make a blanket fort with me and we’d sleep in there, and that helped.” Miguel’s brow furrowed. Any other times he’d been scared? _Oh._ Wait. “There’s…one time things got scary. But…that was my fault.”

                Señora Marquez looked up, brows drawn together. “What happened?”

                Miguel squirmed a bit in place. “Well…I mean, I didn’t get hurt or anything. And it wasn’t Tío Héctor’s fault at _all!_ But…I, um, I got to go to one of their shows.”

“Oh? Where was it?”

“At, um…I think it’s called El Paraiso or something like that; Tío Héctor said it was a music club.”

Señora Marquez wrote down another note. “All right. Tell me what happened.”

“So Cruz…um, that’s Ernesto’s YouTube name…well, he brought me early and told me to stay at a table while he set up and we waited for Tío Héctor to come. But I…” He winced, looking away before looking back up at Señora Marquez. “…wandered off? And I wound up getting locked out for a little while.”

                Señora Marquez’s eyes widened. “Of the club?”

                “Sí.”

                “Were you able to call anyone?”

                “Well, I tried calling Ernesto but he couldn’t hear his phone, and Tío Héctor was on the motorcycle, so I knew he wouldn’t answer. But two of their fans found me and stayed with me for a bit, and then Tío Héctor came and everything was good! And I haven’t wandered off _once_ since then, and Tío Héctor went overboard for a while on making sure he knew where I was. So it’s not like it’s a problem or anything!” Miguel swallowed hard as he watched her scribble a few quick notes down. “That’s…that’s not gonna get me taken away, will it?”

                Señora Marquez paused, and she looked up at Miguel with a gentle smile. “Miguel, I’m going to let you in on a secret that most people don’t know about social workers,” she said quietly. “I’m working very hard to make sure that you _do_ stay with Héctor.” She let out a small sigh as she looked down at her notes. “I’m going to be honest with you, this does mean I have to do a little more work than I’d planned. But you’re not getting taken away if I can help it, so you don’t need to be scared of that.”

                Miguel set his jaw, but he nodded quietly. Señora Marquez smiled again.

                “It’s going to be just fine, Miguel,” she assured. “I can tell that your tío wants to take the best care of you and that he’s working very hard to make sure you have what you need. That’s the most important thing.” She stood up. “Well, I think that’s all we need to talk about. I just need to have a talk with…Ernesto, you said was his name?”

                Miguel nodded. “He’s editing right now, but he likes talking.”

                “Perfecto.” She held out a hand to help Miguel up to his feet. “It was very, very nice meeting you, Miguel. Thank you for talking with me.”

                Miguel nodded again, then followed her out of his room. That had gone pretty well, he thought. They didn’t have to worry.

                At least, he didn’t think so.

~

                 This interview was unnecessary, a waste of both of their time, and quite frankly the very _last_ thing Ernesto needed right now.  

                After all, it wasn’t like Héctor was the only one who was stressed out at the moment. The channel was _suffering_ —frankly, it had been since the accident. They’d gone from having at least one new song every month to _nothing_ for six months straight. And yes, of course Ernesto wasn’t going to hold family tragedies against Héctor—he couldn’t be his best friend if he was _that_ callous.

                And at first, it’d been easy to keep the channel afloat. Collabs with other musicians when he’d been on tour; vlogging, livestreams, and challenge videos for the first few months Miguel was here. All classic tricks to keep viewers tuned in with relatively little effort. But at the end of the day, Rivera y Cruz was a _music_ channel, and their subscribers were starting to notice that…well, there wasn’t exactly any new music _._ Comments like _Is there going to be a new song soon?_ and _It’s been sooooo long since we’ve seen you guys play original stuff. I hope you didn’t quit making music :(_ were starting to pop up on the newest videos, and each one sent Ernesto into a minor panic. Because he was just the one _selling_ the music; Héctor was the one who actually _made_ it. And if Héctor wasn’t writing, then their entire music career collapsed.

                And that absolutely, positively _could not happen._

But Ernesto was at a quandary. He knew, from experience, that if Héctor wasn’t in a writing mood, he would _not_ write. Brilliance like his didn’t come from churning out songs like a machine; his _muse_ (the metaphorical one, not the awful boss-girlfriend) came as she wished, and there was no forcing him otherwise. And with how rocky things had been between them, there wasn’t any way to nudge Héctor into opening up his songbook without a fight. Honestly, things were so bad that he probably wouldn’t even offer up an old song of his if Ernesto asked.

                So…Ernesto had decided that enough was enough. After all, he _was_ a musician. Maybe he didn’t have Héctor’s knack for words or fancy degree, but he knew his way around a guitar. And even if he hadn’t been hanging around Héctor for the past twenty years, he’d listened to so much music from so many different genres that he figured he _had_ to have picked up a thing or two about what made a decent song.

                So, for the first time since he was a teenager, he’d decided to write a song himself. And…

                …and it was terrible.

                It was derivative ( _Stop wasting your breath with that damn_ music _!_ ); its melody was basic ( _I didn’t bring up some sissy boy who wails about_ love _like a girl_.); the lyrics were mediocre and not at all genuine ( _You get rid of those scribbles and you man up, or I will_ make you _man up, claro?)_.  

                But he wasn’t going to let his fath—his _opinions_ get in the way of being a musician. He was _Ernesto de la Cruz_. His fans wanted music, and he was going to give them music—even if he had to spend two weeks trying to edit it into something decent.

So really, he was _not_ in the best headspace to talk about Miguel and whether he was thriving or whatever it was social workers wanted to know about kids. But _Elena_ was insistent if nothing else. (The social worker was also very insistent on being called _Elena_ , which didn’t help Ernesto’s reluctance. That wasn’t her fault; she was trying to make him comfortable, he knew, and it wasn’t like she knew her name was associated with disapproving glares and threatening chanclas.)

So here they were, her sitting in his computer chair with her clipboard as he put on the best Cruz smile he could and tried to look at ease. She was looking around the room appraisingly before writing a few notes down.

                “So is this where you record?” she asked.

                “Sí. We’ve been moving the recording equipment here now that Miguel’s here permanently.” He impressed himself by keeping those words neutral. “I’m mainly the one who uses it, to be honest.”

                “Yes, both Héctor and Miguel have said that all three of you are musicians,” Elena hummed, taking another note. She tapped her pen to the board, then looked up at him. “How do you feel about Miguel?”

                “He’s fine. He’s a pretty normal kid, I think, even with what happened with his parents.”

                “He doesn’t get into much trouble?”

                Ernesto shrugged. “Not with me. That’s Héctor’s job. Making sure he stays out of trouble, I mean.”

                Elena gave him a thin smile. “So I take it you aren’t very hands-on with him, then.”

                Ernesto shook his head. “He’s Héctor’s _ward_ , not mine. I’m only in this picture because I live here.”

                “I see.” She scribbled down another note on her board. “And how do you feel about Miguel living here?”

                That it was an invasion of his space, that Héctor was completely ignoring everything but his own wants, that their lives would be _infinitely_ better and back on track if Héctor would just let Miguel go back to Santa Cecilia.

                “It’s fine,” was what he said instead.

Elena nodded, looking up at him before taking another note down. “And when you’ve had to take care of Miguel, how does that usually go?”

Ernesto shrugged. “It’s not something that happens enough for me to have a set pattern. But I usually let him do his thing and make sure he doesn’t get hurt.” He let out a quiet breath through his nose, eyes flicking over to his computer screen, where his song sat mid-edit, mocking him. “Are we almost done? I’m a little busy right now and…”

                “Almost, almost.” She gave him a patient smile, which he returned thinly. He stayed quiet as she looked over her notes, tapping her pen to her lips. “I do want to talk about one incident, if you don’t mind. Miguel mentioned he went to one of your performances, when you were in charge of watching him. Apparently he got locked out. That…does raise some alarms for me, I’ll admit.”

                Ernesto’s eyes widened before he crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow curiously. “Does that sort of thing get an automatic fail?” he asked.

                She chuckled and shook her head. “Well, no, it’s hard to get an _automatic_ fail if the child’s happy and healthy, and the home is safe and gives them a healthy environment, which so far has been the case.” She grew serious as she looked up at Ernesto again. “But I will need to know more about that situation; depending on what happened, it could mean that we’d have to review the case.”

                Ernesto kept his face very, _very_ still as his mind raced. This could be it. This could be the moment that sent this stupid fantasy of Héctor’s toppling down and brought him back to reality. Ernesto would lay out _everything_ : the 18+ venue, Héctor forgetting his teaching meeting, Miguel sneaking away and getting locked out in the cold before being picked up by complete strangers…honestly, he might even throw in Miguel tripping and busting his chin open. All of that was _definitely_ enough to cast some doubt on Héctor’s ability as a parent, and then Miguel was as good as back in Santa Cecilia.

                Ernesto’s heart pounded in excitement, and he let his eyes flick over to his screen, where his terrible song sat mid-edit. That could be deleted. He wouldn’t need to force out some half-rate song if he had _Héctor_ back. His co-writer would be back in action, his _friend_ would be back at his side. It’d be perfect. “Seize your moment” had always been a fun slogan to sign off with up until now, but now, now that he had his career and future back in his grasp, he just had to reach up and…

                …no.

                No, he couldn’t. Not like this. It would feel too far out of Héctor’s control.

                Unconsciously, Ernesto’s hand curled into a fist as he glanced at his computer again. He couldn’t get Héctor back with this plan. For one thing, losing Miguel this way would make Héctor shut down, and then he _still_ wouldn’t write. But more importantly, Héctor had to know _himself_ that he wasn’t up to task to take care of Miguel. Having the social worker sweep Miguel away wouldn’t be a lesson; it’d just be an unfortunate thing that couldn’t be helped. Héctor had to see that _he_ was wrong _._

“Could…you tell me about the club incident?”

                Elena’s voice snapped Ernesto out of his thoughts, and he looked down at her. He let out a long breath as he glanced one more time at the computer, then looked down at her with a small smile.

                “I promise, it sounds much worse than it was,” he assured. “Miguel wasn’t stuck out there for too long, and the girls who found him were the best he could have run into. I should have kept a better eye on him—the fact that it happened the way it did is tremendously lucky—and I promise, nothing like that will happen again.”

                Elena watched him, brow furrowed slightly, but she nodded and scribbled down a few notes. “That’s what it sounded like,” she hummed. “But I do still have a few questions, if you don’t mind.”

                “Por supuesto, ask away.”

                The questions were fairly basic, and Ernesto kept his answers as non-alarming as possible. And, soon enough, Elena Marquez thanked him for his time, shook his hand, and left his room. _Finally._

He sat back down in front of his computer, pushing a hand through his hair as he looked over the song. _Garbage_. He’d just potentially sacrificed a chance at getting the best songs in Mexico back, all for a dumb kid who’d been nothing but problems since he’d arrived. And he was risking losing his audience by putting out a second-rate song that would prove he was the failure his father had always thought he was.

                _Dios_ , he needed Héctor back.

                But for now, there was nothing to do but take a breath. And work on his terrible garbage song.

                And _wait._

~

                “En serio, Héctor, what are you _doing_?” Even though Héctor was halfway in the cupboard under the kitchen sink, he could just _see_ the way Imelda crossed her arms as she asked that.

                “I’m hoping…for…a… _ay!_ ” He yelped as he bumped his head against the sink’s drain, then grinned as he saw what he was looking for. And, after maneuvering his way out, he held up his prize for Imelda to see. “ _A miracle!_ ”

                Imelda pressed her lips together, eyebrows raised. “A…fire extinguisher?”

                Héctor dusted himself off as he nodded, setting the extinguisher on the counter. “That was the one point she said I was missing: you need to have a fire extinguisher out and ready in case of an emergency. I meant to go get one earlier, but it completely slipped my mind.”

                Imelda raised her eyebrows. “I didn’t know our apartments came with them.”

                “They don’t, but I mentioned it to Chich when we were taking the foam down from Miguel’s room this weekend. So either I have a lovely guardian angel who wants Miguel to stay, or I owe Chich a six-pack or two.”

                Imelda shook her head with a smile, stepping forward to brush a bit of dust from his shoulder before resting her hands on his arms. “Well, it seems like everything went well.”

                Héctor returned the smile, letting himself relax at her touch. “I think it might have, actually.”

                She raised her eyebrows at him, giving him a little smirk. “You know, I try not to say ‘I told you so’ too often, but I think now’s a good time to say it.” She leaned forward, nose almost touching his. “So _I told you so_.”

                He chuckled, closing the gap to nuzzle his nose against hers. “You know, diosa, you are _fully_ entitled to pull the ‘I told you so’ card.” He pulled back, watching her for a moment before taking her hand. He pulled it to his lips, kissing her palm softly. “And thank you for telling me so.”

                Her fingertips pressed against his cheek gently, and he met her eyes with a smile before his gaze flicked over toward Miguel’s door. Amidst Miguel’s things from Santa Cecilia, a small, plain brown box sat, patiently waiting for Héctor to remember it.

 _Right_.

                With the visit looming over him for the past few weeks, he’d almost forgotten. Now wasn’t _quite_ the time he’d planned, but…well, if the visit went as well as he thought it did, then what was one more life-changing decision?

                “Héctor?”

                Héctor blinked, Imelda’s voice pulling him back from his thoughts. He looked down at her for a moment. No, no, not _right_ now. But maybe…

                “Do…you have any plans tonight?” he asked softly. She blinked.

                “Well, no. I cleared the whole day for a visit.”

                His mouth turned up. “Well, then maybe…”

                He trailed off as he heard Ernesto’s door open, and he quickly pulled away to look at Elena Marquez as she stepped out. Right, he was getting ahead of himself. He needed to finish the visit first. He automatically gave her a smile as he turned to grab the fire extinguisher.

                “See? I told you we had one.”

                Elena blinked, then smiled. “So you do! I’ll take care of that note, then.” She crossed something out on her board, then looked over her notes for a moment. “Well, that just about concludes things, but we have a little bit of time left. I was hoping I could speak to you alone for a moment.”

                “Oh, of course. I just…” He turned to look toward Imelda, who nodded.

                “I’ll get out of your way. I told Miguel I’d help him with his math,” she said, quickly making her way toward Miguel’s room. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Señora Marquez,” she added before opening the door and stepping inside.

                “Did Tío Héctor pa—” They started to hear Miguel ask, but it was quickly cut off but the door shutting. Once things were quiet, Elena looked up at Héctor.

                “Well, overall, things look very good. The apartment looks fit for Miguel to live in—though I’d like to see that foam gone and a proper bedframe in soon.”

                “Por _supuesto_.”

                “And he looks to be much more than adequately cared for.” She gave Héctor a warm smile. “He was telling me how much he loves living here and learning from you. I think it’s clear that he loves you very much.”

                Héctor blinked, swallowing hard at the unexpected wave of emotion that hit him with her words. It wasn’t exactly _news_ to him—of course Miguel loved him, they were _family_. But even so…hearing it from someone else made his heart swell almost uncomfortably in his chest. He cleared his throat and unconsciously mussed up his hair. “I…that’s, that’s really good to hear,” he said with a breathless smile. “I-I just, I want the best for him, you know? And I really want him to stay.”

                Elena nodded. “I know, Héctor. That’s also very obvious.” She pressed her lips together as she looked over her notes. “For the most part it all looks good, but…there is _one_ hiccup.”

                Héctor blinked, dropping his hand as his eyes widened. “S-sí?”

                “There’s the incident of Miguel getting locked out of the club.”

                Héctor felt his stomach drop right to his feet. _Stupid_. He should have told Miguel to keep from…well, no, it was for the best Miguel was honest. After all, he’d just _said_ that he wanted the best for him. And if something like that made him a bad guardian, well…

Héctor shook his head, then sucked in a breath as he braced himself for the bad news.

                “It…it was my fault,” he said after a moment. “I’d forgotten a meeting and…” He stopped as Elena held up her hand.

                “I’ve already heard from both Miguel and Ernesto, and that’s all I need.”

                Héctor’s brows creased, but he gave a quick nod. “Oh. Um, okay. All right.” He swallowed hard again, trying to ease the tightness from his throat. “If, if it’s all right to ask…how does that look? Overall?”

                Elena looked up at him, eyebrows raised. “Well, it’s not _perfect._ And, I’ll be honest, chances are high that there’s going to be another visit once I send in my report.” Héctor started to wilt, but stopped as she set a hand on his arm and gave him another warm smile. “But no parent is perfect. And I think it’s clear to _everyone_ who meets you that you want to give Miguel the best life you can, and that’s the exact thing I look for in my clients. So, if my next visit is as pleasant as this one was, then I can guarantee that you’ll have custody of Miguel.”

                Héctor looked up at her, then let out a long breath and smiled. “Thank you. En serio, Elena, thank you so much.”

                She gave his hand a shake with a smile. “The pleasure was all mine—and I’ll be sure to let your tía know that you did spectacularly. She was very concerned when I last spoke to her.” She pulled a card from her pocket, writing a few numbers down before handing it to Héctor. “You can expect to hear back in about two weeks, but if you have any questions or need any information, you can call any of those numbers, okay?” Héctor nodded, and she gave him a smile. “Then that’s all there is. I’ll probably be seeing you soon.” As she led the way to the door, she gave him a friendly wink. “And next time the fire extinguisher should be a little more easily accessible.”

                He gave a weak little laugh as he opened the door for her. Then, once she was out and the door was closed, he leaned against the wall.

                He’d…done it.

                _He’d done it!_

He’d made it through the visit, the _social worker_ told him he was doing well, and everything was actually _on-track._ In just a few short weeks, he’d know for sure if he had full custody of Miguel.

                His heart was so full it took every ounce of willpower not to let out a grito right then and there.

                There was so much to think about now! They had to get Miguel’s room fully furnished—make it somewhere really great for a kid to _grow up_ (!) in. He had to really make sure that nothing like the club ever happened again—which, of course, it wasn’t, because that was a one-time fluke and if Héctor was going to be a fa—a guardian, then he wasn’t about to let his kid be in such a terrifying situation ever, _ever_ again. He really should brush up on his cooking; Social Worker Elena hadn’t said anything about it, but once Tía Elena heard, she’d _insist_ Héctor be able to cook her boy some decent meals.

                There was so much to do. A whole life that he’d never even considered six months ago had opened up to him, and he wanted to jump headfirst into it _right now._

But…

                Not alone.

                Quietly, he made his way over to the plain brown box, opening it up despite the fact that he knew the boots were still inside. They weren’t quite as elegant as what the other Riveras made, but even Tía Elena agreed that he’d made a fine pair of shoes anyone would pay a good price for—which was kind of funny, considering they all knew that these were priceless.

And after all that work, Imelda _had_ to like them. Brown, sturdy, with a sensible heel and beautiful leatherwork around the eyelets—if there was ever a shoe that summed up Imelda, this was it.

And, honestly, it was _so_ much more sensible than a ring.

                He carefully placed the lid back on the box, taking a deep breath. He could see it now: the family he’d always wanted, stable and loving and full to the brim with music and joy. It was still on the horizon yes, but it was within _reach_.

And the next step was right here: to open the door and tell Imelda and Miguel the good news. Everything else would follow, he was sure. And he couldn’t _wait_ to start moving forward.

               

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always thank you all SO, SO much for reading, and a double-thank you for your patience while I was getting through a pretty rough few months. Wit and I appreciate you all so much for being so encouraging and understanding even when schedules get wonky. <3
> 
> Wit has the next chapter, so keep an eye out for the next one. And be sure to check out some of the amazing Teacher AU stuff from other writers and artists if you haven’t yet! It’s a big ol’ party up in here.
> 
> (Also one year anniversary of this fic is sooooon so check out slusheeduck.tumblr.com and/or im-fairly-witty.tumblr.com for gushy pooooosts.)


	15. Chapter 15

It was time.

Hector had been planning this for weeks, for months, for over a year if you counted abstract day-dreaming. But his hands still shook a little as he reached up to the top shelf in his closet to pull down the brown cardboard box hidden there.

He’d nearly done it several days ago after the social worker’s visit, but had decided to let it slide in the midst of his and Miguel and Imelda’s celebrating. That day had already been such a relieving success, why push his luck by rolling the dice for a second time on an already stressful day?

Not...that this was rolling dice. He already knew this would go well, he was absolutely certain. He had no reason at all to be nervous. No reason to put it off at all.

The box fumbled in his fingers as he turned and nearly tripped over the edge of his own bed. He yelped as he caught the box and hugged it tightly to his chest.

He sighed as he stopped himself and sat down on the edge of the bed for a minute, still clutching the box tightly, one hand going to check the contents of his right pocket for the millionth time that day.

Okay. So maybe he was a _little_ nervous.

Hector closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. He’d never really had stage fright, but maybe this is what it felt like?

Because the truth was that he’d tried planning (and scrapping, and replanning) this so many times over the last year that it felt like a repaired Christmas ornament that was more duct tape than ornament now. When they’d dated the first time he’d dreamed of it aggressively, only to have his hope damaged at every turn whenever he disappointed Imelda, before it was finally shattered at his last mistake.

He’d ruined it the first time, but this time he had been so careful. This time he’d kept himself from planning until he’d been _sure,_ absolutely positive that she would say yes. Which was why he’d asked her to meet him on the roof to “unwind with a drink” in a few minutes, why Miguel was across town visiting Marco’s family for the night, and why he had no plan.

Because if he had no plan then he couldn’t mess up the plan, right?

Hector rubbed his face roughly, and then stood, grabbing the box as he walked out of his room. As long as he didn’t overthink it and went with his gut and did his best it would be fine, nothing could go wrong if he-

Hector slammed into something as he entered the hallway, making him yelp and drop the box.

“Watch it, Hector.” Ernesto snapped, stooping to pick up the scattered sheaf of papers that Hector had knocked out of his arms, “Do you have to be a disaster _every_ second of the day?”

“Watch it yourself.” Hector said, glowering back as he straightened his shirt, “No one asked you to be crowding the entire hallway.”

“It’s not your hallway, Hector.”

“This is a shared apartment, Ernesto.” 

“You’ve forgotten to pay your half of the rent for two months, _Hector_.” Ernesto said, looking up from collecting his papers to glare pointedly at Hector, “It _is_ my hallway.”

Hector paused...had he really forgotten that in the hustle of the last several weeks?

“Well, not on purpose,” he huffed, bending down to shove some of the papers Ernesto’s way and recover his dropped box, “why didn’t you remind me?”

“I have.” Ernesto said flatly, frostily taking the papers from Hector’s hand, “Several times. I’ve also tried to talk to you about the channel several times, and about...some other things, but you’re always doing something for the adoption process and-”

“Ernesto I don’t want to hear about it.” Hector said, pulling the box and its spilled contents toward him, he didn’t need to hear whatever naysaying comments Ernesto might have in mind, he’d already made up his mind. “I don’t have time right now.”

“No, see? There you go again.” Ernesto said exasperatedly, “You never want to talk it over Hector, you’ve been avoiding me for weeks, but we _really_ need to talk about...”

Ernesto’s voice trailed off as he watched Hector gather up his cardboard box, packing the women’s leather boots back inside. Ernesto’s eyes were wide as Hector stood, glaring back at him as Ernesto’s expression hardened.

Because of course Ernesto knew what they meant, he’d grown up around the workshop too, he’d seen Enrique propose to Luisa.

“Hector...” Ernesto said, his voice sounding dry as he stood.

“I don’t have time to talk right now.” Hector said, shouldering past him.

“ _Hector_.” Ernesto said, his voice sharp as he grabbed Hector’s arm, “You don’t understand what you’re doing, you’re going to-”

“Let _go,_ Ernesto.” Hector snapped, jerking his arm away. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“How on _earth_ do you think this is a good idea?” Ernesto cried, “You _always_ do this, you think you’ve got it all figured out, and then you bite off more than you can chew and get yourself hurt. I _always_ warn you, with the girls back in high school, with college, with your mother, with Imelda, and you always run off on your own anyways and it always blows up in your face and then I have to drag you back, and put you back together again!

“You can’t even handle paying rent,” Ernesto said, brandishing his rolled up papers at Hector, “what makes you think you can handle adopting a child _and_ getting married to someone who’s already left you before?”

“I’m _not_ a kid you have to protect anymore, Ernesto, and my mind’s already made up.” Hector said, forcing himself to stand steady even as Ernesto’s voice rose, “If you really want to talk then sure, we can talk, but _later_ , I don’t have time for this right now.”

“That’s what you _always_ say,” Ernesto said, jabbing an accusing finger at Hector as he turned to leave. “and _I’m_ always the one that has to clean up your mess after you say it, but I’m _not_ going to do it this time!”

“Well maybe I don’t _want_ your help anymore!” Hector said, glaring back at Ernesto as he grabbed a bottle of wine and two glasses off the counter, balancing them on top of the box and doing his best to ignore the ugly twisting feeling in his gut. “I’m _not_ going to talk about this right now, Ernesto, we’ll _talk later._ ”

“If all you do is run away from your problems then you’re never going to-”

“I’m not running away!” Hector shouted back, then stepped out the front door and slammed it behind him as hard as he could manage.

He waited outside the door, his breath coming a little too fast as he consciously wrestled down the guilt inside. It wasn’t the first time he’d fought with Ernesto and it wasn’t going to be the last.

...although maybe it should be.

Hector swallowed, looking down at the bundle of things in his arms. After all, if all Ernesto was only going to make him feel nervous about his choices, or try and make him feel like he was running away from things...then maybe...

But no. He would think about that later. He had something much, much, _much_ more important to do right now, and he wasn’t going to let a spat with Ernesto get in the way.

Hector waited until his breathing steadied again, then set off toward the service stairs before it got unsteady again for a different reason entirely.

Because no matter what Ernesto thought, it was finally time.

 

***

 

Imelda looked out at the city around her as she stood on the roof. A slight breeze pulled at her loose hair, she’d started wearing it down more outside of work lately, but it was a warm night. 

She sighed as she idly bit the inside of her cheek. Hector was taking longer than he should, but it was alright, she didn’t have anything planned that night and their stolen moments on the roof together had become a surprisingly relaxing habit. Between raising Miguel and trying to get all the adoption work in order, stealing moments for just the two of them was getting harder and harder. Escaping to the roof for a bit was sometimes the only time they got.

“Lo siento Imelda, I’m sorry I kept you waiting.”

Imelda looked over and smiled as Hector stepped onto the roof from the service stairs, stooping to set a bundle of things on the ground by their spot near the AC vent before coming up and hugging her.

“Are you alright?” she asked, a little bemused as Hector’s tight hug caught her a off-guard.

“I’m fine,” Hector said, his voice muffled a little in her hair, “it’s just been such a crazy and stressful couple of weeks.”

“That it certainly has been.” Imelda said, relaxing a little and kissing his cheek, “But the hardest part is over, now we just have to wait a few weeks and everything will be perfect.”

“It’s not perfect yet.” Hector said, pulling back from the hug enough to kiss her forehead, a nervous little sparkle in his eye.

“What are you talking about?” Imelda asked, squinting suspiciously.

“I have a present for you.” Hector said, grinning as he led her over to the little brown box he’d set down, “I made it myself.”

“Hector you already got me a birthday present last week,” Imelda said, taking the box as he handed it to her.

“It’s not a birthday present,” Hector said. Were his hands _shaking_? “I wanted it to be separate.”

“...alright?” Imelda said slowly, trying to figure out what on earth he was up to as she took the lid off the box.

She gasped softly as she let the lid drop. A pair of softly glossy dark brown leather ankle-high boots sat nestled in brown tissue paper, staring back up at her.

“You... _made_ these?” she asked in awe, gently picking up one of the boots and looking closer.

“I know they aren’t perfect,” Hector said, rubbing his arm as he watched her, “but I’ve been paying attention to what you like, and your real shoe size, which is actually a little smaller than what you normally buy, and I thought that since you usually wear foot supports I could alter the insoles, and I know the stitching could probably have been tighter, but I-”

Imelda cut him off with a kiss, pressing her mouth to his until his rambling stopped and he relaxed, resting his hands on her hips.

“I love them.” Imelda said, pulling out of the kiss, “They’re beautiful.”

“You haven’t even tried them on yet.” Hector said, but his eyes were bright, “Let me help you.”

He dropped to one knee and she handed him the boots, leaning back against the AC vent a little as Hector quickly slipped off the worn out flats she’d thrown on after work and gently eased one foot at a time into the handcrafted leather boots, lacing them tightly.

“They feel like they’re part of my feet. I really don’t think I’ve ever had shoes that fit this well.” Imelda said, smiling as she walked in place a few steps to feel them, turning to admire them, “They’re amazing, Hector, thank you!”

“I’m glad they fit,” Hector said, smiling up at her and clearing his throat a little. Imelda paused, hearing the nervousness coming back into his voice.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Nothing! Nothing’s wrong, it’s just, ah...” Hector cleared his throat again, and Imelda noticed his hand unconsciously stray to his pocket, as if checking that something was still there.

A puzzle piece clicked into place in Imelda’s mind, making her cheeks flush and her hand go to her mouth as she watched Hector, down on one knee, nervously fumbling for words.

“Hector, are you trying to-?”

“So there’s a tradition in my family that when you _really_ love someone you make them shoes.” Hector said, finally getting the words out in a nervous rush, barely managing to scramble in time to cut her off, but his ridiculous smile answered her question anyway, “It’s because when you really love someone you want them to walk with you through life, and if you want to walk together for a long long time, well, you’d better make sure they have some properly made shoes.”

Imelda watched in silence, too overwhelmed to say anything as Hector took a deep breath and continued.

“Imelda, it feels like I’ve loved you forever.” Hector said, his nervous smile had faded, but his voice was soft and earnest as he looked up at her, “I know we’ve only known each other for a couple years, but the time I’ve spent with you has been the best of my life. Even when things have been rough between us, I’ve never stopped hoping that things would work out because I could never imagine my life without you. I know I’ve never been perfect, but you make me want to be better, and these past months you’ve somehow become even more amazing as you’ve helped with Miguel. I _know_ that I couldn’t have done this without you.”

Hector reached into his pocket, pulling out a long slim velvet jewelry case, “I know that you don’t like wearing rings...but I was wondering...well, I was wondering if you would want this back? For good this time?”

He opened the box, revealing the purple jeweled pendant necklace he’d given her the first time they’d been dating. The necklace that she’d been unable to refuse because she’d loved it so much, the necklace she’d ripped off and thrown in his face when she’d broken up with him. The necklace she’d missed dearly ever since.

Because it wasn’t just a beautiful necklace, it was the beautiful necklace that _Hector_ had given her.

Imelda’s hand was still over her mouth, tears coming to her eyes as she looked up at Hector’s face. His eyes were wide as he waited for her to reply, the slight tremor in his hands giving away how nervous he was. Six months ago she would have been terrified, would have immediately pushed this away, shut it down, gotten away. But now, as she looked back at the necklace, she knew her answer.

“I still want a ring too,” Imelda said, managing to pry her fingers back enough to speak in a trembling voice, “if I’m going to be married I want everyone to know.”

“Then, that’s a yes?” Hector asked, standing and putting his free hand gently on her elbow, somehow sounding both dazed and intense, “You’ll marry me?”

“Of course I’ll marry you, idiota, even though you managed to ask me in the most indirect way possible.” Imelda said, her face close to his, a laugh escaping her as a tear tracked down her cheek.

“I, I mean are you sure?” Hector asked, his hand moving to her face, his thumb gently smoothing across her cheek, “You really mean it?”

In answer Imelda took his face in her hands and kissed him, long and tenderly until he melted against her. Until she was sure he knew that yes, she _really_ meant it.

“You know, this is going to make the adoption paperwork a lot more complicated.” she murmured, burying her fingers in his hair as she gently kissed up his cheek bone.

“If the wedding is after the adoption is official we won’t have to worry,” Hector said, his arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her close as he gently kissed the side of her neck, “I already checked."

“So a few months then. I _suppose_ I can wait that long if I _have_ to.” Imelda said, she smiled as she pulled back enough to gaze into his warm brown eyes, “Te amo, Hector.”

“I love you too,” he said softly, “more than I’ll ever be able to say.”

“Well you’ll just have to show me then,” Imelda smiled, her arm wrapped around his neck, “you’ll only have a whole lifetime to do it in, so you’d better hurry.”

“Whatever you like, diosa.” he said, closing his eyes as he rested her forehead against hers, “I’m yours.”

Imelda closed her eyes, savoring the quiet intimate feeling of him pressed against her, the gentle sound of his breathing, the content feeling of just _existing_ with him.

“And how much time do I have tonight with my fiance?” Imelda asked softly, gently smoothing her fingers through his hair.

“Miguel is staying with Marco’s family for the night.” Hector said, his eyes still closed, “I didn’t want to rush.”

“You’re so attractive when you plan ahead,” Imelda said, only half teasing as she kissed his cheek, “well first I think I’d like to kiss more, then we should really do something about that bottle of wine, and I’m sure we’ll think of something to do after that. Bueno?”

“ _Muy_ bueno.” Hector said, smiling as he leaned in and kissed her again, hard and sweet enough to make Imelda forget everything that wasn’t the man she was going to marry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I’ve got the next chapter as well which will probably be done sooner than later, so keep an eye out for that! As always thanks so much for reading! :)
> 
> \- Wit


	16. Shot

Ernesto waited all night. 

In the first hours he had raged, storming around the apartment after Hector left, wondering if he should charge out after him and knock some sense into him. 

A little before midnight he’d taken the tequila out of the cupboard, had been  _so_  close to using it to wash away the dark swarm of thoughts in his head. But had put it back. He’d sworn a long time ago that he’d never use alcohol to medicate himself. 

For the next few hours he sat at the kitchen table, the only light on in the apartment shining above him as he tallied up all the reasons that this could not be allowed to happen. He tried to think of something else, tried opening his laptop to work on something else only to be met by the sight of his unfinished disaster of a song. Because he wasn’t good enough to write it. 

Sometime around four in the morning Ernesto quietly got up from the table to get the bottle of tequila again. 

The sun rose as morning came, but when Miguel came in around nine in the morning, dropped off by some friend’s mother apparently, the apartment still felt dark. Ernesto only glowered silently from the table, and Miguel quietly ducked into his room without a word. 

Which was fine. 

Miguel wasn’t the one to blame. 

It was ten twenty-six when Hector came in through the front door. Ernesto knew because his watch was propped up on the table in front of him, along with a half empty bottle of tequila and two shot glasses. One well used already, one waiting empty on the tabletop between him and Hector. 

Ernesto’s arms were folded and he leaned back slightly in his chair as he watched the front door’s handle fumble for a moment, then quietly swing open as Hector ducked inside. His hair was a mess, he was wearing an old university t-shirt Ernesto hadn’t seen in months, and was carrying his shoes in his hand. 

The warm starry smile on his face evaporated as soon as he was inside though, as if he could feel the heavy darkness in the apartment too. He looked at Ernesto, his expression hardening. 

“Morning.” Hector said, looking around evasively, dropping his shoes by the door, “Is Miguel home yet?” 

“He came home about an hour ago.” Ernesto said, his voice a careful balance of complete emotionlessness, “It’s a good thing I was here to let him in.” 

“I, ah, I wasn’t planning on being gone all night.” Hector said, a ghost of a smile passing across his face before he looked back at Ernesto, “Sorry.” 

“It’s time to talk.” Ernesto said, sitting up and folding his arms on the table-top. 

“Not right now,” Hector said, looking away and scruffing a hand through his hair, “I’m gonna go hop in the shower, I-” 

“Now, Hector.” Ernesto commanded, pointing to the other chair. 

“Ernesto, I really don’t-” 

“You said we would talk when you got back.” Ernesto said icily, “And now you’re back. So, sit. Down.”   

For a moment it looked like Hector might refuse, but Ernesto pushed every ounce of command he could into his stare, gradually eating away at Hector’s flippant attitude. 

“What?” Hector asked, shoving his hands into his pockets with a flat stare, his head ever so slightly tilted forward. 

Hector might be getting overconfident in himself lately, but that didn’t change the fact that the two of them rarely got in fights. Hector didn’t know how to stand his ground if Ernesto didn’t take it easy on him or if he couldn’t run away. Something Ernesto could use to his advantage. 

And Ernesto was going to use  _everything_  to his advantage. 

“Have a seat.” Ernesto said, his voice losing a bit of its edge at seeing Hector already defensive instead of just brushing him off. 

“I don’t have to-” 

Ernesto put the edge back in his stare, cutting Hector off without a word. Hector silently took a seat across from Ernesto, sitting on the edge of his chair. 

“Look, if this is about rent then I’m really sorry okay?” Hector started, “I’ve just been really busy and-” 

“Did she say yes?” Ernesto asked, his voice back in his careful emotionless balance. 

Hector was quiet for a moment, looking like he was trying to find a trap in the question. “Yes.” he said, “We’re keeping the engagement a secret until after the adoption papers are through though, so please don’t tell anyone, not even Miguel. And you can hate me all you want Ernesto, but I’ve made up my mind, so-” 

Ernesto chuckled a little, his smile cutting off Hector mid sentence. 

“I could never hate you, Teto.” Ernesto said, unfolding his arms and reaching for the bottle, pouring some in both shot glasses, “Congratulations.” 

“I…thought you were angry about it?” Hector said warily, folding his arms defensively as he watched Ernesto pour. 

“Marriage is a really big decision hermano,” Ernesto said, keeping his smile from becoming too strong, just the right amount to be convincingly cheerfully resigned, “and you know that I’m  _always_ there for you, even when you do things that seem crazy. We’re both adults Hector, we can make our own choices. Here.” 

Hector watched Ernesto slide the shot glass across to him. 

“It’s really early for tequila.” Hector said, looking up at him with a raised eyebrow. 

But Ernesto could see his defenses starting to come down, unsure how to sustain themselves in the face of supportive cheerfulness. Good. 

“Well if your t-shirt is anything to judge by you’ve had a busy night.” Ernesto said, putting on a wry grin, “Besides, we should have a little celebration, especially if no one is going to know for so long.” 

“Well, it shouldn’t be too long,” Hector said, finally smiling a little too as he took his glass, “if everything goes well we’ll hear back from the agency in a few weeks.” 

“Well hopefully you scored enough points on that lady’s clipboard to pass,” Ernesto said cheerfully, sipping his drink, “you’ve sure got a lot to live up to next to your primo Berto, but I’m sure you did well. So why the hush? Whose idea was it this time?” 

There was the tiniest hesitation before Hector answered, but Ernesto was watching for it. If Ernesto had laid out a laundry list of all the reasons the adoption could or should fail Hector would have closed off, it was much better to let Hector’s imagination do it for him. 

“It, uh, it was both of our idea.” Hector said, blinking as his smile returned. He picked up the shot glass, “We think it’s better if the focus is all on Miguel right now so everyone isn’t worried about a wedding too, one thing at a time. It’s not like last time, this time we both agreed.” 

“We both agreed as in she convinced you? Or we both agreed as in you both  _actually_ agreed?” Ernesto said, keeping his voice light and teasing as he took another sip. Hector would, of course, say it was the latter. 

“We both  _actually_  agreed.” Hector said, rolling his eyes with a smile. Right on cue. 

“Good, because the first time you dated was a complete disaster.” Ernesto said, chuckling, “You sure she isn’t going to dump you again if you mess up like last time? She’s a sharp woman, very decisive when she’s had enough.” 

“Ha ha.” Hector said, but his joking flat little smile was more uneasy than it should have been as he knocked back his shot. He set the empty glass back down on the table. “I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t sure this time, I’m not going to mess up, it’s different this time.” 

“Well good.” Ernesto said, reaching over and refilling Hector’s glass, “What’s different this time?” 

“Oh, well, this time?” Hector said, pulling the refilled glass toward him on the table without the slightest protest, looking at it instead of Ernesto. “Well, we’re a lot more comfortable this time, we’ve taken it a lot slower. Well, maybe not slower, I mean it’s still only been a few months, but it just feels better this time you know?” 

“Ah love, such a fickle thing.” Ernesto said, smiling as he rested his chin in one hand, “Really though, I’m honestly impressed you landed someone like her, especially after it ended so…dramatically last time, I really thought it was going to be just like all the other girls. I’m glad she’s not just using you for makeout sessions anymore, that’s not what  _real_  love is about right?” 

Hector said nothing, only smiling as he knocked back his second shot, avoiding answering. Ernesto did catch him glancing at his t-shirt though. 

“So why  _does_ she love you anyway?” Ernesto asked, still keeping his voice casual. 

“Oh, well…” Hector looked at his empty glass, tapping it on the table top. 

Ernesto raised his eyebrows, letting the silence draw out uncomfortably. 

He had to keep from smiling to himself at landing such a blow. If Ernesto had asked Hector why he loved Imelda he knew Hector could go on for years with his sappy chattering. But while Hector could always see the good in others, usually when they didn’t deserve it in the slightest, he could never seem to imagine what good things others might see in himself. Sometimes this was infuriating, but at this exact moment it was exactly the kind of leverage Ernesto needed. 

And after thoroughly seeding his imagination with his own failings, something that was almost too easy, Hector would really be questioning why he deserved his lady love after all. No matter that she was a manipulative witch who’d already destroyed him once, no matter that marrying her would mean trapping himself in an unfulfilling life, would mean abandoning both of their dreams and saddling himself with an entire family in a matter of months. 

None of that would matter to Hector until it was too late to save him, but if he realized how unsuitable  _he_  was… 

“I know she really loves helping to take care of Miguel.” Hector said, still looking at his empty glass, “She’s so amazing with him, I couldn’t have done any of this without her.” 

Ernesto reached over to refill the glass for a third time. It wasn’t something he could rely on, but it sure didn’t hurt that a buzzed Hector was a more compliant Hector. Especially since Hector was using the drink to avoid his questions, meaning he was starting to slip. 

“Oh come on, that’s cheating.” Ernesto smiled, “The thing she loves about you is Miguel? Really Hector, I know you’re a mess but there’s got to be something else. And remember,  _physical affection_  doesn’t count.” 

“I mean, I don’t know.” Hector said, shrugging and looking away, “I’m just glad she does, I don’t think about it too much I guess.” 

“Well I guess that’s fair,” Ernesto said, nodding, “I mean at least you know she isn’t marrying you for your money, not when she earns more than you.” he chuckled, “Which I guess means you won’t have to worry about paying the rent anymore with her taking care of everything.” 

“No, it’s not like that.” Hector said, smiling with the kind of smile that means you aren’t actually smiling. 

“So are you going to make her quit her job, or are you going to be the one to stay home and make her support the family?” Ernesto asked, his cheerful attitude still present, but flatlining in energy. 

“What?” Hector said, furrowing his brows. 

“You know, when kids start coming along.” Ernesto said, emptying his glass, “I mean she’s such a career woman I can’t imagine her being happy staying home with a baby and Miguel too, but I know you’d get stir crazy having to quit your job. I mean, plus you’re supposed to be the man of the house, but with her pulling in the better paycheck than you I guess it would make sense for you to turn in your man-card to help out.” 

“We haven’t talked about that kind of thing yet.” Hector said, starting to sound a little stiff, “But I’ll do whatever Imelda prefers.” 

“Good,” Ernesto said nodding and leaning back in his chair, “I mean that’s how you two have survived this long right? Once you stop having an opinion on anything right? And goodness, it’s a good thing Miguel came along to lure her back if that’s the only thing keeping her here.” He leaned forward, “That really was a stroke of luck if you think about it, do you think she’d ever have taken you back if Miguel hadn’t showed up? Can you imagine what would happen if the adoption fell through? It’s a good thing you’ve got that in the bag, right? She might get bored with you again.” 

“Ernesto. Stop it.” Hector said, glaring at him, but his glare lacked heat, and he was still fiddling with the shotglass, his grip getting tight. 

“Stop what?” Ernesto asked innocently. 

“Stop…this.” Hector said, “Stop trying to make me second guess myself.” 

“Wait, you’re having second thoughts?” Ernesto said, pulling on a worried look, “But you just proposed to her last night, weren’t you sure you were good for her before doing something like that?” 

“Of course I was!” Hector snapped. 

Ernesto inwardly smiled grimly at Hector’s use of past tense. He just might be able to save him yet. 

“Well then what’s your problem?” Ernesto asked, still looking concerned, “Hector if you’re having doubts that’s serious.” 

“I’m not having doubts.” Hector said, rubbing his nose, “Everything’s going to be fine, the adoption’s going to go through and then, I don’t know, I’ll get a second job or something to help support us. If she wants, I guess. It doesn’t matter, we’ll make it work, she won’t be unhappy.” 

“Well you’ve given up on music so it’ll have to be something other than that.” Ernesto said with a theatrical huff. 

“What? No I haven’t, what are you talking about?” Hector said irritably, folding his arms. 

“You haven’t done a single thing for the channel in months, Hector.” Ernesto said, folding  _his_  arms, “Not a single song, not a single video or even a  _warm-up_ , and you’ve ignored me whenever I’ve tried to bring it up. You’re losing your grip if you really think you’ve been on top of anything the last few months. No music, no rent, no help around the apartment, you’ve been too busy and upset to even talk to  _me_  Hector, it’s been awful. 

“You’re letting your real life slide away, everything you’ve worked for. I know you get like this sometimes so I’ve been trying to work double time to keep it from coming back and crushing you when you resurface, but I’m getting tired Hector, I need your help again to keep things going. You’re throwing everything away without realizing it and letting everything slip out of balance like you always do, but it’s scaring me how far you’re going this time. You’re going to end up really hurting people if you don’t check yourself before you go too far with promises you won’t be able to keep.” 

“It’s…I’m not…” Hector swallowed, searching for words. His nervous grip on the still full glass looked tight enough to shatter it, “I’m not trying to, I’m trying to help! I just want to help them both, I want to love them both!” 

“This isn’t about  _you,_ ” Ernesto said, leaning forward, “haven’t you thought about how much better a life Miguel would have with a real, stable family? You want it so badly you’re trying to pull Imelda in too fast just to give Miguel two “parents.” But then you’re ignoring how much you’re stiffing Imelda by flustering her into marriage when you know she’s only here because of Miguel, who is her  _student_. But you want it  _so badly_  that you’re throwing away your best friend to do it! You probably think I’m the bad guy here, you probably think I’m being pushy and controlling when I’ve only been trying to help you not fail while you’re off getting tangled up in what  _you_  want. But you can’t do this forever Hector! You have to think of others, not just yourself!” 

“I’m not just thinking of myself!” Hector cried, standing and still gripping the glass, a little bit of the drink spilling over the edge, “I’m trying to do what’s right for all of us!” 

“So you  _know_ that you’re the best possible parent that Miguel could have?” Ernesto said, standing too, but keeping his voice from becoming angry. Let Hector feel like the out of control emotional one. 

“I’m what Miguel needs.” Hector said. But his voice was shaking. 

“And you know that you’re the best possible man for Imelda? The husband who can provide for her and lead a family for her?” Ernesto asked, not having to fake the disbelief in his voice, “Hector you didn’t even  _have_  a father growing up! How can you possibly think you’re capable of this?” 

It was a low blow. A very very low blow, but Ernesto couldn’t hold back now, not when Hector was starting to visibly crumble. 

“Hector, I want to  _help_ you, but I can’t if you keep pushing me away like this.” Ernesto said, taking a deep breath as he went in for the kill, he could topple this whole house of cards at once, right now, he could tell, “If you’re going to  _really_  help Imelda and Miguel you’ve got to-” 

They both jumped as a smart rapping knock sounded through the apartment. 

They both looked to the front door, stunned. Ernesto held back a growl as the rapping came again, louder this time. Whoever it was had completely scattered the focus Ernesto had worked so hard to build up, he was going to have to build it all over again now. 

“Should I…?” Hector asked, looking a little shaky and unsure as he looked to Ernesto. 

“Ignore it.” Ernesto said, some of his anger seeping into his voice. Whoever it was couldn’t possibly be as important as this conversation, and if it was the ice queen she would have let herself in already.   

The knocking came again. 

“There’s someone at the door!” Miguel called, coming into the room and crossing to the front door, looking at both adults with childish exasperation at their incompetence, “Why aren’t you answering it?” 

“Leave it, Miguel.” Ernesto said, but he was too late. 

Miguel deftly unlocked the door and swung it open mid-knock, revealing a tall woman in heels. She wore a low cut leopard print dress and clutched a shiny black purse, smiling widely. 

Ernesto felt like he’d been shot, actually stumbling back a step. 

Of all the people in Mexico, in the entire world, this was the one person he’d been sure he’d never have to see again for the rest of his life. He looked at Hector in a panic, but Hector was already staring at her open-mouthed, like a deer trapped in the headlights of an oncoming semi-truck. 

The woman smiled at Miguel, then locked her eyes on Hector with a grin.

“Mijo! It’s been so long!” Mariana Rivera said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear reader, you have now reached to end of the second arc. Welcome to the third and final arc of teacher!au. 
> 
> Slush has the next chapter, so be looking for that and buckle your seatbelts.
> 
> \- Wit

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> Updates here can be a little sporadic, since we're both juggling several products at once. But if you want more content, you can come check us out on tumblr! We're always rambling about Coco and you can catch a LOT of extra teacher!au headcanon flying around. This AU is also a ton of fun because it's constantly being added on to by the Coco community and extra ideas from the fabulous writers and artists there regularly get woven into the story as it progresses!
> 
> https://im-fairly-whitty.tumblr.com/
> 
> http://slusheeduck.tumblr.com/
> 
> [The Teacher!AU idea was originally started by @scribblrhob's art and then primarily added on to by @upperstories's art, two fantastic tumblr artists. The authors of this fic decided to turn their lovely art into a full written story.]


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